Gospel For The Fallen Ones
by TomiSama04
Summary: Castiel is afraid of everything, and he has been since he was a little kid. So naturally, he is terrified when Dean Winchester asks him to break into a church on Halloween and spend the night there alone with him. [Pre-Series] [Destiel].


Gospel For The Fallen Ones

Pairings: Destiel (DeanxCastiel)  
Ratings: Explicit  
Warnings: Explicit sex scene, Canon-level violence, John Winchester being a dick briefly  
Words: 64,238  
Beta: Bree (bowtiesanddeductions) and Jill (somanyjimifeels on tumblr)  
My Tumblr: talesfromperdition

Summary: Castiel is afraid of everything, and he has been since he was a little kid. So naturally, he is terrified when Dean Winchester asks him to break into a church on Halloween and spend the night there alone with him. [Pre-Series].

Notes: This fic is for CuteAngelBoyfriend. She won my art contest for WFL last year on my birthday, and so I NaNo-ed this story for her. Her prompt was "horror," but I honestly don't think it's too scary. Congratulations, Khaleesi! I hope you like it.

* * *

**Gospel For The Fallen Ones  
****October 31, 1995**

When the final bell rang, it came with a steady murmur of excitement. Typically, the high school students were ready to leave by 3:03, but on Halloween, there was something extra in the air. Some of Castiel's peers had dressed up – some scary witches, some bloodthirsty vampires – but the shy boy himself hadn't.

Castiel Milton didn't like Halloween.

From an early age, his overly Christian parents were hesitant about taking him and his older sister, Anna, out to get free candy. They were nervous about anything pagan or the occult, and the small boy fed on the fears of his parents. Anna, however, was fearless and at six she had constructed an argument in favor of going Trick or Treating. She must have been convincing, although Castiel couldn't remember the argument – he had only been four at the time – because his parents eventually gave in and the Milton children scored their free candy.

It hadn't been worth it. Photos from that first night proved what Castiel knew deep in his heart; he was afraid of his own shadow. Every picture of him showed him crying, cheeks wet and mouth open in a silent scream at the sight of unknown monsters. It didn't really matter what the other kids dressed up as, Castiel was terrified of most of them with the thankful exception of princesses, bumblebees, and other cutesy costumes.

It had gotten marginally better as Castiel turned from a frightened child into a nervous, distrusting teenager, but only because he excelled at compartmentalizing and he tried to force his fears to stay internal. He had definitely gotten better at schooling his terror; only Anna ever called him out on being a baby anymore.

So when the final bell rang, allowing the caged monsters free to burst forth from their prison to spill out onto the streets to cause terror for one night, Castiel wasn't buzzing with the same energy as his peers were. They were ready to celebrate the macabre: the younger teenagers by loitering in alleys, ready to steal the candy of any child brave enough to come out without supervision, and the elder teenagers by convincing their older brothers to buy them thirty-packs of cheap beer, stealing bottles from the bottom of their parents liquor cabinets, before they would join the unholy party in the woods, laughing and howling like a pack of rabid werewolves.

Normally, Castiel would spend his Halloween at home, working on his homework or watching the History Channel. The new network was quickly becoming his favorite, and he could get lost in episodes of Modern Marvels for hours. But this was not a normal Halloween, and while Castiel's heart wasn't pounding due to excitement, like the other students, nor fear, as it usually did, it was still pounding, hard and fast against his rib cage.

"Hey Cas," a voice called from behind him. If his heart was already pounding, it jumped to his throat and lodged there at the sound of the voice. The dark-haired boy tried to turn around to face the other boy, but an arm was slung over his shoulder, pinning him where he was for a brief moment until the pair of them moved as one down the corridor toward the front doors. "We're still on for tonight, right?"

"Of course, Dean," Castiel said, licking his lips and turning to face his friend.

Dean had been one of the students who had dressed up. He smelled like baby powder, which explained why his hair was several shades lighter, and the face paint he had on wasn't cheap and blotchy like some of the other ghosts. However he managed to do it made him just look pale. He didn't go with a sheet, like the girl in their English class did; instead, he had a white shirt, and acid-washed jeans that were ripped and speckled with more baby powder.

Castiel hadn't expected for his new friend to dress up. Even though he'd only been going to their school for a month, Dean was full of cocky grins and biting comments. His first day he promised his teacher he wouldn't be there long, and Dean's lazy, bad boy persona didn't mesh with the boy Castiel grew to know. He was far softer than what he appeared, more teenage and human, but dressing up didn't seem all like that private side of his personality, either.

The shorter boy had asked his friend why he dressed up in class earlier, but Dean just grinned and made a joke about raising awareness about how to kill ghosts, and that was the end of that.

"Awesome," Dean said, pushing through the doors and leading Castiel out into the biting, October air. Castiel didn't draw closer to his friend to avoid the gusts of wind. He knew he didn't because Dean didn't comment on it. "I thought you might chicken out," the boy teased, but his tone was light, friendly. "Your sister says you're a scaredy-cat."

Castiel frowned, shrugging his shoulders and trying to get Dean's arm to leave him. He thought about verbally denying it, but that would be lying, so he just settled for acting quietly indignant. Dean laughed, pulling Castiel closer for one second before letting him go.

"I just have to shower first, alright?" Dean asked, grin still on his face. He was walking backwards, back toward the outskirts of the town where he was currently living. "This shit itches like a motherfucker. Come by the motel in twenty?"

"Okay," Castiel said, throat tightening. He coughed, trying to clear it, and forced a smile as he shoved his hands into his pockets. If Dean noticed, he didn't say anything, so Castiel offered a quick smile and said, "See you soon," before heading off toward his house.

* * *

Castiel had packed last year's backpack the night before with what he thought would be the essentials: a set of pajamas, an extra jacket, a set of clothes for the morning, a flashlight (with three spare sets of batteries), a notebook, several pens, and his sleeping bag awkwardly tied to the top of it like he'd seen in old war movies. He had hid it all in the back of his closet, not because Anna was a snoop, but more because she had a sixth sense about everything that came to her baby brother.

When he opened the door to their house, Anna was sitting at the kitchen table eating an apple. All of the seniors had dressed up for Halloween – just like all of them would be partying in the woods that night – and Castiel couldn't believe their mother let her out of the house that morning wearing a dress that short. It was an inch above her knees, but their mother was old fashioned and Anna had been somewhat of a miracle baby that the Miltons had later in life.

Castiel had been more of a happy accident two years later.

Anna, like Dean Winchester, was wearing white. The similarities stopped there. Anna had her red hair pinned back around a headband that held her halo, and a set of glittery white wings strapped to her back. Castiel wanted to go upstairs, get his stuff, and start walking to Dean's – it would take nearly fifteen minutes to get there – as quickly as possible so Anna wouldn't even notice he had been home, but unfortunately, he took one look at her costume and snorted.

She scowled, "What?"

"You're an angel?" Castiel asked, shifting his backpack over his shoulder. "You always go as something… you know… bloodier."

"Yeah, well, we all have to grow up sometimes," Anna said with a shrug. Castiel grinned, and Anna shot him another dirty look. "No, okay. This doesn't have anything to do with Frank. You're disgusting if you think I would try to seduce someone who has been going to our church for _years_ by dressing up like an angel."

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, well, either way it's totally working because he asked me if I would go to the party with him. What a freak. Jesus freaks getting their rocks off to angels, I swear," Anna said, but she was smiling. She took a bite into the apple, and when Castiel noticed her smile twisting into a grin, he tried to duck out of the kitchen but she stood and grabbed his arm, holding on too tightly for him to rip his arm away and escape. "Speaking of getting rocks off, I hear you and Dean Winchester have a date tonight."

Castiel cursed his body. He was burning and he knew he would be red. His sister just smirked. "It isn't a date," he insisted. "We're working on homework."

"You're spending the night," she shot back. "The last time you spent the night at some boy's house, you ran home because you had a wet dream."

"I thought that I had… _shut up_. I was twelve!"

"Yeah, yeah. All I'm saying is that I know what's going on so don't you try to hide from me. I've seen the pair of you at lunch with your big baby doe eyes and his evil wolf grins and don't think for one second that I care what you do with whoever you do it with, but still," She paused, putting her hand over his shoulder. "He's been here a month, Cas. He lives in a motel. He isn't going to stay, and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Nothing's going to happen, Anna," Castiel said, shrugging off her hand and moving toward the door. "I've been to his house a dozen times. He talks about girls all the time. He isn't… we aren't… you don't have to worry about it and I'm not even…"

"Don't you dare," Anna called after him.

"Fine, then. I don't _know_, and you don't have to be concerned either way, because it isn't going to happen," he managed before he finally walked out the door and took the steps two at a time to reach his room.

Castiel's room should have been a reflection of his personality, but it wasn't. Anna's room had pictures of her and her friends, posters of her favorite movies and bands, and it was painted her favorite color. In comparison, Castiel's room had little life. His curtains were always closed, his bed was always made, and the biggest glance into his personality was the bookshelves full of books. Castiel would read anything – novels, books of poetry, physics textbooks – anything he could get his hands on.

Unsure of what would happen tonight, he had shoved two books into his backpack the night before just so he would have something to read if Dean fell asleep but Castiel was too scared. The first, _The Wizard of Oz_, had brought him comfort when he was a kid. The second, _Cat's Cradle_ by Vonnegut, had been his favorite book since the librarian suggested it to him that summer; he had read it so often, half the pages were dog-eared and the spine was scarred with how frequently he creased the binding.

He quickly put his homework into his other backpack too, hoping they could work together on math and science after they had done what they needed to do for their English project. Dean was unnaturally smart, but he never applied himself so his teachers thought he was dumb. Castiel loved nothing more than listening to his friend go on and on about salt and iron and silver compounds and their various uses in weaponry, or about his dad's Chevy Impala, or any other of the many topics that Dean was a master at talking about.

Castiel grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He paused for a moment to look in the mirror, using his free hand to try to smooth down his hair. It would be messed up again in the whipping air, but he made an attempt anyway.

The dark haired boy walked down the stairs as silently as he could – he couldn't deal with another confrontation with Anna and hang out with Dean in a sane mind space – but avoiding her wasn't in the cards. She was waiting for him, leaning against the front door with her arms crossed over her chest, looking down at the rug like she was looking through it. It wasn't abnormal for her – it wasn't abnormal for either of them, honestly – to get lost in a faraway place. She only snapped out of it when Castiel walked close enough to block her view, working the backpack over both of his shoulders as he waited for her to blink and raise her head to face him.

When she did, her eyebrows were furrowed, more in concentration than anger, and she said, "Something doesn't feel right about today. You're just spending the night at Dean's? You're not going to get drunk or wander around town are you? Because I know that you'll follow that rebel into the Mists of Avalon."

Castiel shifted on his feet, rolling his shoulders and feeling the weight of the supplies in his backpack. "I'm not going to drink or anything, Anna. Once I get where I'm going, we aren't going to leave until morning." When he looked back up at his sister, she didn't look comforted. "Nothing's going to happen to me tonight. Are you trying to scare me?"

Some of the muscles in one side of Anna's cheek twitched into a forced smile, and Castiel would have felt better if she had laughed and admitted it. Instead, she shrugged and shook her head. "There's a reason why Halloween and full moons have a stigma attached to them. Things – unexplainable things – happen. And I just… I worry about you. I know you never go out and try to have fun, and I'm really proud of you for making a friend, but something is in the air tonight. You don't feel it?"

Castiel shifted uneasily once more. The truth was that he did feel it. He felt it when he woke up that morning, in the shifting wind on the brisk walk to school. He felt it all day, electricity in the air that seemed to make his hair stand on end, had noticed the weather the past week – although thunderstorms were not necessarily unseasonal, they were certainly ominous – but Castiel had ignored it all for one reason.

He always felt it. True, the weather was a new sense of foreboding, but he always felt nervous. He always felt something was hiding around the corner, ready to attack.

And despite feeling this for as long as he could remember, it very rarely came into fruition. On the slim chance somebody was waiting around the corner, it was never any of the big, shapeless monsters that haunted his dreams. It was just another teenager, bigger than him, and wanting something he had.

A bully, sure, but not really a monster.

Instead of admitting anything, Castiel just shook his head. "The only thing that's going to happen tonight is that I'm going to work on my English project with Dean, and you're going to lure a poor, unsuspecting boy deeper into the woods and feed on his virgin blood."

Finally, a grin broke out on Anna's face and she moved away from the door to push his shoulder. "Shut up. He isn't unsuspecting."

"He kind of is," Castiel smiled.

"Oh, yeah, well so are you. Going over to Dean freaking Winchester's motel to _work on an English project_. That's the stupidest euphemism for getting your brains fucked out that I've ever heard."

"Nothing's going to…"

"Yeah, yeah, Cas. I hear you," Anna said, stepping into his personal space. She wrapped her arms around him – even though she was shorter than he was, it still felt comforting – and she held him to her for a long moment. It would be uncomfortable, Castiel imagined, between other teenaged siblings, but Anna had always been affectionate. It was something they had both needed, but something neither of them ever really talked about. "I love you, you know?"

"I know, Anna," Castiel said, stooping down to rest his chin on his sister's shoulder. "I love you, too."

After a long moment, Anna pulled back, holding her younger brother at arm's length. Her eyebrows were furrowed once again, but not in concentration. "You tell Dean Winchester that if he lets anything happen to you, I'll gut him."

"Nothing is going to…" Castiel said, but Anna squeezed her fingers into his arm, and he nodded. "Okay."

"And be safe," Anna added, patting his cheek and walking back into the kitchen. She wasn't cackling, but it was really close.

Castiel, red faced and nervous, opened the door and stepped back out into the fall air.

* * *

It didn't take long for Castiel to walk from his house on Main Street to the motel where the Winchesters were living. To get there, he had to walk past the derelict part of town. The further he walked toward the outskirts, the more buildings had been left abandoned in favor of renovating older houses further in town. Occasionally, the owners had left for warmer pastures down south. The buildings had been large and majestic in pictures, but Castiel couldn't remember them ever looking that way. Now, they were just structures of rotting wood and shattered glass.

It was abandoned this way. All of the kids who were dressed up for Halloween had turned off to nicer side streets; nobody lived this far out of town. Before he met Dean Winchester, Castiel had only walked out this way a handful of times, almost always on a dare from Anna or with Anna herself. Even though he'd walked past the houses a couple of times a week now, he still couldn't help the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge.

Castiel tried to keep his eyes forward, but things seemed to swim in his periphery with the wind. Shutters on windows, stuck up there to spite the wind and gravity, shot forward and back against the house, slamming old wood against old wood. Wind chimes hanging on one of the porches rang out. It was less musical than it was loud; the wind so fierce that the block hit many of the metal poles at once. Rust had put holes in the metal, and they sounded out of tune, a clashing of angry sounds protesting the wind.

There were stray animals that lived under the porches or inside the houses that had been built with doggy doors. Three times as he was walking, Castiel heard the low, threatening sound of a dog growling from somewhere out of sight, daring the teenager to leave the sidewalk and cross over into the animal's claimed territory.

Castiel was used to these, and despite the fact that his heart pounded in his chest – which was totally normal because those dogs were vicious and could possibly have rabies so of course he was a little nervous walking past them – he wasn't all that scared. The first few times he had walked to Dean's house, he had to take off running to escape the monsters lurking inside his head. But he had practiced, in the past four weeks, walking. He could imagine himself with his back straight, his shoulders back, his head held high as he walked the seven minute journey across the abandoned part of town, unafraid.

In reality, his back and shoulders were slumped, his eyes set at a point about three feet in front of him. His breathing was ragged, coming in sharp and exhaling more than he was taking in. His head was light from not being able to regulate his breathing, but he forced himself to take the street step by step, to not give into the fear and run.

Despite the protest in his body – the overwhelming desire to take off and get it over with – he was managing. He could see the lights of the motel, just off the highway, if he dared to glance up, but he didn't dare.

It was only 3:30, but the dark rainclouds crossed over the sun, casting the street into shadow. Even that shouldn't be enough to cause the street lights – which somehow still worked – to turn on, but when Castiel looked up at the sky to debate running to miss the rain, he noticed the lights flickering around him.

A sudden gust of wind plowed into his front, nearly causing him to stumble back. Castiel covered his nose and mouth with his hands, blocking out the harsh smell brought in on the air. It was strong, something familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

It must be the cars' exhaust from the highway.

Suddenly, there was a crack of lightening, and Castiel didn't even realize he had stopped walking before he took off running against the wind and toward the motel. He wasn't running because of the creepy town, he told himself as he pressed forward, letting go to his desire and feeling his body catapult him faster than he ever ran during cross country.

It was just to beat the rain.

It took no time for Castiel to cross under the barrier of the motel's porch. The motel was only one storey, only had six rooms, and were almost always used by transients or truckers just stopping to get a little shut eye. They were frequent enough to keep the place afloat, but Dean and Sam were the youngest pair of people to stay in the hotel since that runaway from the city six or so years ago was found dead in the parking lot. It was practically lore in town; it was the only apparent murder that anyone could remember, and it was a bizarre case, left unsolved due to lack of evidence.

Long story short, the kid looked like he had been beaten to death, but the body showed signs of being dead for weeks before it was found. It was impossible, though, because he had just gotten into town the night before.

It was a story Dean loved to hear, loved to talk about and try to solve, but Sam often just rolled his eyes at him and called him a freak.

Castiel would agree with Sam – not because he thought Dean was a freak – but just because it usually got Dean to stop talking about it. It wasn't a story Castiel liked thinking about. It left him feeling nervous, and he couldn't quite figure out why.

Well, except for the obvious unsolved murder of a teenager bit.

Under the protective barrier of the motel, the wind seemed less violent. Castiel could no longer see the sky over the ceiling as he rested his back against the wall next to Dean's door and waited for his breathing to calm down before he knocked on the door.

The motel itself wasn't in bad shape compared to the abandoned buildings down the road. It certainly wasn't as cushy as the bed and breakfast downtown where almost everyone else stayed, and it wasn't as clean as the Super 8 or the Econolodge the next town over.

Castiel had no idea why they were staying in a motel, the one time he'd asked Dean had gotten defensive and when he left to go to the bathroom, all Sam would say was that their mom had died in a fire and they hadn't stopped moving since.

This far out of town, the cornfields started. To the left, the Winchesters had a view of a ghost town, to the right was the highway, but in front of them and behind them were cornfields. Dean had made a joke about how they were the Children of the Corn, and Castiel flashed back to the time Anna had made him watch the movie and it took five minutes for him to come back into himself and only then because Dean had put his hand on Castiel's knee to ask if he was okay.

That had snapped him out of it pretty effectively.

Castiel watched the cornfield across the road move in the breeze. Many of the fields were plowed, but these two were left standing. They were brown, dead, and decomposing where they stood, and Castiel didn't know why the farmer would go through the trouble of planting the corn if he wasn't going to harvest them.

He didn't know, but it wasn't abnormal around here.

Even though his breathing had returned to normal, Castiel didn't move his back from the wall to knock on the door. He hadn't hesitated like this since the first time Dean had invited him over. Dean had only been in school for a week, but their English teacher had assigned them a project. The older Winchester sat behind Castiel in class, and even though a bunch of the girls turned around to ask him to be their partners, Dean had tapped Castiel's shoulder.

They had planned to meet at Dean's that night – the taller boy said he couldn't leave his little brother alone after school – and when Castiel had gotten home that afternoon, he had been so excited that he had told Anna where he was about to go.

That, he realized later, had been a big mistake.

When he got to the motel that first time, he had been a shaking wreck. He had been terrified of the abandoned houses and felt sick from the fear that Anna put into him about boys like Dean Winchester.

Anna had told him that Dean wasn't asking him over to work on their English project, but to take his virginity. She had gone into detail about it, wondering whether Dean would be slow and gentle or rough and fast. She asked aloud – although Castiel was so speechless he couldn't respond even if he wanted to, which he didn't – whether or not Dean would want to cuddle after sex or if he'd just use Castiel and toss him away.

He wasn't even sure how Anna knew that he found Dean attractive, other than by looking at Dean. He was classically attractive – strong jaw, full lips, green eyes, and freckles – and Castiel had been gone on him the second he walked through the door in their English class with a cocky grin, declaring that he wouldn't be in town long. Usually, whenever Castiel found a classmate attractive he avoided him like the plague. It made his attraction to other boys a nonissue, so he wouldn't have to confront his sexuality or how terribly his parents would react if they ever found out.

Castiel was a wreck when he finally knocked on Room Number 3's door that first night. Anna had managed to convince him that Dean was going ravage him. Dean, Anna had said, was the type who would fuck first and ask questions later.

When Dean's twelve-year-old brother Sam answered the door, Castiel let out a huge sigh of relief. Dean wouldn't try anything with his brother home, and even if he did, he was a good enough excuse for Castiel to say no, that they _couldn't_, so he could avoid thinking about whether or not he was ready to have sex at all, let alone gay sex, which was something he very much wanted (specifically with Dean) but was too afraid to even think about.

Dean hadn't tried anything, hadn't tried anything in the month that they had been hanging out a couple of times a week, and he wouldn't try anything tonight just because they were going to be alone all night for the first time.

He wouldn't.

Right?

"Hey, Cas," a voice called from the left, and Castiel jumped. He knew Sam's voice, but he still looked up to see the younger Winchester crossing the parking lot toward him, annoyed that even Sam managed to scare him. Sam was a kind boy, short, and just as smart as his brother, though the teachers liked him more because Sam actually did his work in school. His teachers were trying to fast track him into advanced classes, but Sam had flushed when he told Dean about it and the older boy paraded around the motel like he was the one the teachers were praising. When Sam finally reached Castiel, he was smiling, small and private. He nodded toward the door and said, "He isn't going to let you in if you don't knock to let him know you're here."

Castiel felt the heat rising to the surface of his skin and knew his neck was burning red. Despite the teasing, Sam had a kind smile still on his face, and Castiel could hardly bear the thought that Sam knew about his crush on Dean, that they both knew, and they sat around laughing about how stupid and pathetic he was.

Instead of admitting that he had been hiding outside the motel room door because of anything Anna had tried to convince him about Dean, he readily admitted to the other reason his heart had been pounding through his chest all day.

"This is a stupid idea," Castiel frowned as Sam unlocked the door to let them in. He followed Sam into the motel. Dean wasn't in the room, but the bathroom door was shut. Sam sat his backpack down on his bed – the one closest to the wall – before he walked over to the small mini-fridge and microwave and pulled out a bottle of water. Sam had been excited to show Castiel the refrigerator, stating that many of the motels they stayed at didn't have such a luxury before Dean elbowed him with an embarrassed frown on his face. "Everyone else is giving a factual report on vampires or werewolves, and Dean wants to write a ghost story. And we could just watch _Poltergeist_ or _The Shining_ or…"

"Wow, Cas, you must really not want to sleep in that church," Sam grinned back as Castiel sat down on the corner of Dean's bed, dropping his backpack to the floor, ignoring the other teenager's voice singing AC/DC echoing from the bathroom.

Castiel bit his lip, determined not to wuss out. He had always been a timid child. Anna told him once when he was two, he abruptly started crying on a warm summer day until she realized he had seen his shadow and freaked out. He didn't like monster movies (ghost, vampires, and werewolves were all the same in Castiel's book), but he abhorred the demon possession ones even more. He hadn't dressed up for Halloween since he was seven, the year the man at the end of the street dressed up in a full ape suit and jumped out of the bushes and scared him so badly that he hadn't been able to walk past the house without breaking out into a nervous sweat until just last year.

"It just seems unnecessary," Castiel admitted, putting his hands behind him and leaning back on Dean's bed. The bed was hastily made – not by the maid because the Winchesters had told the man at the front desk to not let anyone in there during the day – and the maid was more than happy to skip one room every day for the past month. "What can I gain from spending the night in a church to help write a ghost story?"

After their first project received such a high grade, Dean insisted on working with Castiel for their second project as well. They were starting _The Shadow Over Innsmouth_ by H.P. Lovecraft in two weeks and to prepare, they were supposed to give a presentation on fear. Castiel was annoyed by the vagueness of the project, but Dean had been excited.

Psychologically, Castiel knew this stemmed from the fact that he was afraid of everything, and Dean feared almost nothing. Once, when they were whispering about their fears in the dark across the void between them on two swings in the playground, Dean admitted to his hands that he was afraid of anything happening to Sam.

It was the only thing Dean Winchester seemed to fear.

"Dean's not really a bad writer, you know. He doesn't know that I know he keeps a journal," Sam grinned at Castiel, walking back to the beds. He sat his water on the stand between the two queens and hopped up onto his bed, and Castiel sat up and turned to face Sam. The younger Winchester started digging in his backpack, pulling out a copy of _The Outsiders_ and sitting it on his pillow before digging out his Geometry textbook. "Plus, if you're scared, there's nobody you could be safer with. Nothing bad'll happen with Dean looking out for you."

Castiel couldn't help the way his body reacted to Sam's confident words. He had said it with conviction: no question, no doubt. Castiel didn't know everything about the Winchesters and their family life, but he knew enough to know that he hadn't met their father in a month worth of visits.

He knew that at any moment, Dean and Sam would pick up and move. Sometimes, Sam admitted, their dad would move them to the next motel so quickly that they didn't have time to say goodbye to their friends, so they didn't bother making friends much anymore.

Dean swore, no matter when John Winchester came to get them, he would make time to find Castiel. He promised not to just leave him.

And Castiel couldn't help the warmth spreading throughout his body at the thought of Dean making an exception for him, of Dean protecting him even though he wouldn't actually need protection. He cleared his throat and watched Sam open his textbook and start his math homework. "What are you going to do for Halloween? Trick or treating?"

"Hell no," Sam snorted. "I hate Halloween. It's stupid."

"Hey," Dean said, the bathroom door opening. He had taken time to dry his hair and his chest, but he'd only wrapped a towel around his waist. Castiel looked up at him and shifted awkwardly on the bed to sit cross legged, tucking his feet neatly under his legs. Dean caught sight of the movement and ducked his head, running his hand through his short hair, looking embarrassed for a moment before his bravado returned and he focused on Sam again. "Halloween is the perfect time to educate the public on how to fight the things that go bump in the night."

"I heard you were giving a Ghost Fighting 101 lecture in all your classes today," Sam said, not looking up from his homework. "Moron."

Dean smirked, walking toward his bed. Castiel's eyes were huge, looking desperately anywhere but the toned body in front of him. The comforter had a fray and Castiel picked at the hole while Dean crouched down at the foot of his bed, pulling clothes out of his duffle bag.

"I'm just doing a public service," Dean said, standing up with his clothes in his hand.

Dean paused for a moment, and Castiel made the mistake of looking up at him. He was level with the man's stomach. Castiel dropped his hands into his lap, fighting the urge to do something stupid like surge forward and attach his mouth to Dean's skin.

"Uh… sorry about…" Dean gestured vaguely to himself. He was holding the clothes in front of himself like he was trying to hide, and Castiel wondered if Dean knew about Castiel's attraction or if he was being uncharacteristically modest. The dark haired boy forced his eyes on Dean's green ones and didn't let them slip lower than his face. He could control himself; Dean didn't need to feel awkward because of Castiel's stupid body. "I didn't think you'd get here that fast."

"You only took forever in there. We had a really awesome time mocking your off-key singing," Sam shot from the other bed.

Dean's eyes snapped to Sam like he had forgotten his little brother was there at all, before his chest and neck grew red. Castiel wanted to place his hands over the blush and feel Dean's embarrassment heat his hands. "I…"

But Castiel cut him off. "We didn't make fun of you. It was… um… fine."

Dean offered Castiel a smile but Sam just rolled his eyes. "Fine is pushing it, Cas. Atrocious is even too nice for what comes out of his mouth."

"We can't all be choir boys," Dean said, but he winked at Castiel before turning his back on the two of them and walked back into the bathroom. "Hey, Sammy, order us a pizza. We should eat before we go."

Sam yelled out, "Got it," at the same time Dean shut the door.

The motel had a payphone just outside, and Sam left to call the local pizza place. It took almost no time for Dean to throw his clothes on, and he walked back into the front room of the motel before Sam returned. The older Winchester padded over on bare feet to the window, separating the venetian blind with a finger to look out and find Sam. Satisfied, he returned to his own bed, sitting down next to Castiel.

He was right next to Castiel; Dean's knee was touching Castiel's thigh and even through their jeans, Castiel swore he felt the heat from the other boy's body.

"Hey," Dean said again, softer this time. He was picking at the fray in the comforter, not looking at Castiel. "We're still on for tonight?"

"You're sure it's okay to leave Sam alone on Halloween? Isn't this the most dangerous day of the year or something?" Castiel deflected. He'd much rather spend the night here with both of the Winchesters. Hell, he'd even sleep on the floor in his sleeping bag, even though he really wanted to share Dean's queen.

Dean snorted, "Yeah, Sam hates Halloween. It's the one day of the year I know he won't try and sneak out."

"Oh," Castiel said.

They fell silent for a handful of seconds before Dean finally spoke up. "I'm… uh… looking forward to this. To the project, I mean. I think it'll be, you know, fun."

Castiel turned and looked up at Dean. He was still looking down at the comforter, pointedly not meeting Castiel's eye, and the dark haired boy was just about to say something stupid like _'I'm looking forward to sleeping over with you'_ when Sam came back in. Dean moved away as the door slammed, and Castiel mourned the contact like his own limb had been ripped off.

"Do we have money for pizza?" Sam asked. Earlier, they had been careful to tiptoe around the fact that their dad never left them enough money for food, but it grew harder to hide the longer they stayed and Castiel didn't care they didn't have any money. He just started bringing his own.

"I've got ten," Castiel said, but Dean waved his hand.

"I swiped some from that football jackoff Mike Something."

"You stole it?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, well, his family is loaded and he's a jackass anyway," Dean said, finally meeting Castiel's eye, then offering a grin at the other boy's expression. Castiel wasn't sure if he was impressed or afraid, but whatever it was, he enjoyed Dean's response to it.

Sam just sighed, sitting back down on his bed to continue his homework. Dean turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he settled on _Friends_.

They sat quietly, comfortably, against Dean's headboard as they watched the show. Sam was ignoring it in favor of doing his homework – the pair of them had seen every episode a handful of times – but Dean would still chuckle at Chandler's jokes, even though they were old and stale to him.

Normally, Castiel loved sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean, feeling the rumble of his laughter across the headboard, the warmth of his body right there next to him, but he couldn't swallow the lump in his throat.

To inspire them to write their ghost story, Dean had insisted they do something spooky. Originally, he had wanted to stalk the graveyard, but Castiel had been terrified and Sam ultimately stepped in, saying too many people would be there for it to be effectively scary anyway.

Sam gave Castiel a small smile, when the older boy had shot him a relieved look.

In all honesty, spending the night in the church was going to be easier than walking around the graveyard. Dean let him pick the church, and Castiel picked his own. He had been going to that church since he was born, and he knew every nook and cranny and he had since he was a small child.

His mother ran the youth group, which was more like after school babysitting for the families who went to the church, so Castiel and Anna would play hide-and-go-seek there for hours after school every day. He knew all the best hiding spots – like the one cupboard in the kitchen that went so deep he could stack rolls of paper towels in front of him to hide himself – and he knew the most terrifying ones. Once, they were found in the stairwell leading to the unfinished wine cellar because Castiel had dissolved into tears in the dark. Castiel was practically in his sister's lap, head buried in her neck, sobbing silently as she rubbed his back.

Castiel only hoped Dean would let them sleep in a comfortable room, like the priest's office, or a room he knew well, like the one where his father taught Sunday school.

If he had to sleep in the catacomb – which was less of an actual catacomb and more of a dank, scary, cement basement – he would cry. And not entirely because he was scared, but also because bacteria thrived down there and it seemed unsanitary to sleep among bacteria.

No seriously, that was why.

By the time the first episode of _Friends_ bled into the second, there was a knock on the door and Dean moved to get the pizza, only letting Castiel donate enough to tip the pizza man. Sam pushed his books away and grabbed two cans of soda from the refrigerator for Dean and Castiel.

As they all sat down to eat, Dean and Sam teased each other with good humor. They talked and chatted, but Castiel couldn't really swallow the pizza down around his fear.

He didn't know why, but this felt like a last supper. He was trying to savor it.

* * *

Around 5:30, they'd eaten the entire pizza and _Friends_ turned into a show Castiel didn't know. Dean shut the TV off, and Sam pulled _The Outsiders _to him. There wasn't a bookmark in it; he must have just gotten it from school today.

Without Dean around all night, Sam would be able to finish the whole thing before bed.

"So, are you about ready to go?"

Dean was on his knees on the floor, digging out a duffle bag from under the bed. It looked heavy, but he didn't unzip it and check to see what he had; instead, he attached his sleeping bag to his backpack like a seasoned camper. He didn't know why Dean would need his duffle and his backpack – he was bringing pretty much everything he owned except for the bag full of clothes at the foot of the bed – when Castiel already felt he had over packed.

Most of Castiel's backpack was filled with stuff to keep him busy when Dean ultimately fell asleep and Castiel was still up, fighting the terror.

He had tried to put his parents' flood light in his backpack but it wouldn't fit.

Castiel didn't realize he hadn't responded until Dean's face split into a grin, his eyes shifting from Castiel to Sam. The younger Winchester shot a grin back at Dean.

The Milton boy frowned, puffed out his chest, and insisted, "I'm not scared."

"No, I know," Dean said, but his grin grew even wider. "I mean, why would you be scared? We're going to _your_ church. You're there every Sunday and Wednesday. You know the layout like your own house. How terrifying could it be?"

Castiel struggled to keep his chin raised and his shoulders back because it was true. It didn't mean he wasn't still afraid. They could get attacked on the way there, they could get caught sleeping where they shouldn't be, or they could…

No, that wasn't going to happen. Anna was just setting him up. Nothing would happen with Dean Winchester, no matter how badly Castiel wanted something to.

"Well," Dean said, throwing the duffle bag over one of his shoulders. His grin was gone; it was replaced with something softer, something more serious. His eyes flicked briefly to Castiel, but he wouldn't hold his gaze. He walked past him and said, "We should leave now if we want to make it there before dark."

"Yes," Castiel said, feeling his heart thumping in his chest. When he turned to look at Sam, he begged for the boy to ask them to stay here instead. He felt betrayed when Sam just smiled. "Goodbye, Sam. See you in the morning."

The last statement came out as a question – he couldn't quite hide the inflection – but Sam waved away the nervousness with a lopsided smile. "Of course, Cas. You've got nothing to worry about. Dean's been keeping me safe since I was a kid. I already told you that you couldn't be in better hands."

"Sam," Dean frowned, his face was set, but his voice wavered slightly with embarrassment. Sam just laughed, and Dean turned on him. "You're staying here tonight, right? Lock the doors when we leave and put… I mean, do the stuff like I showed you. You've got the…" he gestured wildly with his hands, and Castiel frowned. He had no idea what Dean was trying to say. "… thing, and the – uh –" Dean gestured again, equally incomprehensible. "… other thing?"

"Omigod, you freak," Sam cried, standing up and opening the door. He basically shoved Dean out, before he turned and looked at Castiel. The dark haired boy took the hint, leaving of his own volition. It was a small victory to know that he hadn't needed Sam to push him to get him moving. "Just get out of here before you scare your only friend away."

"Yeah, but do you…"

"Yes, Dean. I'm not a little kid anymore. I swear, I'll be fine tonight. You can enjoy yourself _one night_. Just don't do anything stupid," Sam's eyes left Dean's for a moment to flicker on Castiel, but they returned to Dean's so quickly, the dark haired boy was sure he imagined it. "Don't do anything that would make you want to be a hero."

Dean's face grew dark and he shook his head, "I wouldn't do anything to put anyone in harm's way just so I'll look cool, Sam. You should know me better by now."

"Anyone else, you would," Sam said, but he nodded toward Castiel. "But not him."

Dean grabbed his backpack strap and hiked it up his shoulder, shifting on his feet, looking down at the ground. Castiel was confused, but he sure it had a logical explanation. He frowned at Sam and asked, "Are you trying to scare me?"

For a moment, the Winchesters looked confused before they both broke out into grins. "Are you scared?" Sam asked.

"No," Castiel said, but he knew his voice had betrayed him.

"Don't worry about it Cas," Sam said, grinning up at Dean. "There isn't anyone stronger, or braver, or…"

"Yeah, okay," Dean cut him off, wrapping his fingers around Castiel's wrist and tugging him away from the motel. "We're leaving."

"Stay safe," Sam called out, laughing as he shut the motel room door. He wasn't sure if he was reading into it or not, but it sounded like the _safety_ Sam had been implying was the same safety that Anna had been, and Castiel flushed, cursing his wishful thinking.

Castiel was still trying to process the strong grip, the warm calloused fingers, when they reached the parking lot of the complex and Dean let him go. He looked at the dark haired boy for a second, eyes uncharacteristically open, before he turned back toward the road and started the two mile walk to the church.

There was a shortcut to get to the church from the motel, but Dean hadn't wanted to take it. If they walked right and went past the entrance ramp to get on the highway, they would walk the back road that would lead them right to the church. However, the back roads were windy and idiots drove above the speed limit on the dangerous roads. There weren't any sidewalks, and there wasn't much of a shoulder. It seemed unsafe, Dean had said, and they agreed to double their trip just to walk through town.

It was infinitely less scary walking through the ghost town with Dean, and as they walked, Castiel thought maybe Sam was right. He thought maybe he could spend the night in the church and not worry about what wasn't lurking in the dark.

In the dying light, they made it past the street with the abandoned houses and back to the center of the small town. They walked along Main Street – past a pizzeria, a Chinese restaurant, a family-run pharmacy and candy story, the gas station, the library – until the shops turned into houses, and the houses turned into corn fields. The road lost the sidewalk when it turned into the highway between the small town and the slightly bigger one six or seven miles up to the north. A little way up the highway, they turned into Haven. Haven was a segregated part of town – it would be a suburb if there was more than a hundred people living there – but really, it wasn't more than a road just off the main highway that still had the small town's address but was completely secluded from it.

They didn't talk much, not for the first mile through town and then in Haven. Haven was a street just outside of town, and nice, upstanding folk lived out this way. At dusk, however, most of them had abandoned the cool air for dinner, or if they had younger kids, they would be leaving to go Trick or Treating. They didn't see any people as they walked through, but it had a warmer, cozier feeling than the abandoned buildings had, even though it appeared to be just as abandoned.

They passed the oldest house in the county and turned right. They walked over the little bridge that went over the stream, and were on a paved road in the middle of the woods.

Castiel rode his bike to the church a lot as a child; he and Anna would race through the quarter-mile stretch of woods because the road was shaded and it was the only cool part of the journey on hot summer days. Well, that was why Anna would race – enjoying the wind blowing in her hair in the shade – Castiel would race because every time he slowed down and let himself look into the posted land, he swore he saw something looking back out at him. He longed for a bike now, just so he could get through it faster.

To keep from looking into the woods in the twilight, he watched Dean from the corner of his eye. The boy's thumbs were at his collarbones, between his leather jacket and his backpack's straps. He had been quiet too, which was unusual. Dean would talk to fill the silence, hum or sing if he had too, but the way his eyes were on the ground, Castiel knew he had something else on his mind. The younger boy knew his friend wasn't afraid, but for a moment, he let himself pretend that he was the brave one.

It didn't last long. There was a snap in the woods – a twig breaking under a deer's cloven hoof – and Castiel's hand reached out blindly. He gripped Dean's palm, trying to tug him forward so he could hide behind him. Dean, it turned out, was harder to move than Anna, so when Castiel backed away from the sound, eyes scanning the darkness as far into the woods as he could to look for whatever rational animal made the noise, he backed into Dean's chest.

Castiel's heart was racing at his imagination running wild. His focus was so internal, he didn't notice the way Dean's hand managed to free itself from Castiel's grip and rest it instead on Castiel's hip. His other hand came to his friend's shoulder, pulling him back against his warm, strong body.

Castiel couldn't even appreciate it. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears; his body was rigid with fear. He knew it was a deer or a woodchuck or an _animal_ – Castiel knew, rationally, it was just an animal – but he couldn't choke down the small voice that said _but what if it's…_

There were horrors out there in the world. Unexplained, unimaginable horrors. Castiel didn't know how he knew, but he just did. He needed to get out of here. He needed to hide.

"Cas," Dean's lips were at his ear; Castiel could feel the warm puff of his breath against his neck as he spoke. "It's okay, Cas. I'm here."

He wished he could say that rationality won out over illogical fear, but it wasn't that. It had been a long time since he'd been comforted like this – Anna was a senior in high school, and he couldn't sleep on her bedroom floor forever – and receiving Dean's entire body pressed against his back refocused him. His heart was still pounding; his breathing was hitched with adrenalin from his fight-or-flight moment with the beast in the woods, but it was being redirected now. His palms were still clammy, his lips dry, and his tongue heavy.

"Dean?" he asked, putting one of his hands over Dean's on his own hip.

"Wow," Dean's voice was a murmur, and Castiel had to shut his eyes to try and regain control over his body. "I hadn't really believed Anna, but you really are afraid of your shadow, aren't you? You're trembling."

"I'm fine now," Castiel said, trying to will his body away, but it wouldn't move. He was stuck between the fear of the woods and Dean's chest. His body wouldn't obey the command to move toward the fear, not when it craved the alternative. "Honest."

"Yes, I can feel that," Dean smirked, and Castiel felt his lips against his neck. Even though he knew Castiel was lying, he took a step back, removing his hands from the other boy, and for his part, Castiel didn't move instantly back into the shelter of Dean's body. "And, for what it's worth, Sam was a little bit right. I've kept him safe for almost twelve years."

"Almost twelve?" Castiel asked, opening his eyes to scan the woods once again. He gave it a quick sweep and saw nothing. Rather than lose himself in search again, he turned and took an unsure step up the road toward the church once again. He wished, more than anything, he could reach out and grasp Dean's hand. He knew he would find comfort in it, but he also knew that he wasn't allowed that comfort. "Isn't he twelve and a half?"

Castiel was in front of Dean, so he couldn't see the expression on his face, but he did hear the change in the boy's voice. It was set, hard. "Yeah, well, I didn't really do a good job the first year or so."

The dark-haired boy slowed, about to turn around, when he felt a hand settle over his shoulder. Dean kept him from turning, kept him moving toward the fading light and the break in the woods where the trees would open up into more corn fields before they eventually got to the church.

They walked in silence once again, and once Castiel had found his footing and focused on inertia to keep him moving forward, he felt Dean's hand slide off his shoulder. He almost wanted another deer to scare him, so he would have an excuse to get the large hands back on his body. Just as he was breaking through the clearing of the trees, Dean was no longer walking behind him. They were side by side again, the sun below the hills, casting the cornfields and the church in shadow.

It had been dark all day, the rain clouds hanging ominously in the air. As they took their first steps out from the safety of the trees, Castiel felt a drop hit his cheek. He stopped walking, wiped it from his face, and looked up.

The sky opened, and the rain started.

Dean laughed, grabbing Castiel's hand and taking off toward the church. They were only fifty feet away, and nearly the second they were under the cover of patio before the light rain turned unforgiving. Castiel didn't realize it at first, not until after Dean had taken the key from Castiel (he had swiped it from his mother) and unlocked the door, not until after Dean had pulled him inside by his damp jacket, not until after Dean pulled one of the motel towels out of his backpack and put it over Castiel's head and rubbing, drying his hair for him.

Castiel didn't realize until Dean let the towel slide from Castiel's head until it was around his shoulders. The taller boy was grinning, hair somewhat matted from the rain, sniffling from the cold. It wasn't until then that Castiel realized he wasn't afraid anymore.

He couldn't help but smile back.

Castiel offered Dean the towel, and then they slipped off their shoes and wet coats, leaving them by the door. When they were finally dry, they sat their supplies down in the front room, and Castiel gave Dean a tour.

The first floor had seven rooms, three of which bled together. From the door, there was a big open room with a lot of tables, set up for dinners or coffee hours. Around the corner to the right was the kitchen – there was no door attached to the wall, just an arch – and there was a big, open serving window cut out of the wall. To the left of the dining room was another large open room; they kept the closets for the choir's robes there. There was a bathroom to the left, and the priest's office to the right. Straight ahead from there was a door that led to the sanctuary, and just to the left of the sanctuary there was a door that led to the stairs.

The stairs led both up and down here, but the stairs down into the basement had stuff piled in front of it.

Upstairs, there were four rooms – Sunday school rooms – and the second set of stairs leading down to the ground floor was back by the door. There were stairs there that led to the basement, which had four doors. The catacomb room to the left, an office and a play room to the right, and the choir practice room at the far end of the hall. With the exception of the catacomb room, the entire basement was carpeted. Whenever the youth groups had sleepovers – which Castiel refused to attend – they always slept down here.

Castiel ended the tour downstairs in the basement, but despite being cold, the basement had the coziest rooms. Well, mostly. The catacomb was anything but cozy. Technically, it wasn't a catacomb in the underground city of dead in Rome sense, but it was an empty, cement room with no decorations and no furniture. They called it the catacomb after one of the priests made a joke about it once, and the name stuck. It had one light bulb. It had been years since Castiel had been down there – it was the most terrifying room in the building and they didn't like anyone going in there because it was unfinished – so he didn't bother showing Dean now. He ushered Dean into the play room before he could get any ideas about the catacomb. They stood awkwardly for a second – their stuff was still upstairs – before Castiel shrugged and asked, "What do you think?"

"It isn't very scary," Dean admitted, putting his hands on his hips and looking around the room. There were blocks and toys, paper and glitter littered the tables, and craft projects hung on the walls. "Actually, it is a little scary. Kids are kind of creepy, man."

"They are not," Castiel said. He knew every one of the kids who made these handprint crosses. He knew they weren't scary. But now that Dean had mentioned it… "Damn it, Dean. Do you have to do that?"

Dean turned around, facing Castiel again with a grin on his face. "Whoa, there tiger. I think it's blasphemy to swear in a church."

Castiel frowned – he never used to swear at all until he met Dean – but he didn't comment on the blasphemy at all. Instead, he asked, "What should we do now?"

"Well," Dean said. "We've got plenty of time to kill. Why don't we just do our other homework first? We can try to get inspired with some spooky shit later."

Castiel sighed. He wanted to do the spooky stuff never, but later was better than now. He just led Dean upstairs to their backpacks and shoes.

* * *

Castiel and Dean had the same English, history, and gym period. They were in the same math class too, but had it different periods. The only difference was in their science. Castiel was taking Earth Science but Dean was taking Chemistry because he had refused to take another class about rocks.

So they still had a lot they could work on together before they started the nitty-gritty of their English project.

Castiel was pretty good at math, but Dean was undeniably better. He hadn't even known the concept before Castiel showed him how, but perfected it with one problem, barreling along and finishing the whole assignment in the time it took Castiel to complete half. Dean offered to let him copy, but Castiel grumbled and shook his head.

The laugh that escaped Dean's lips was so free – so simply joyful – that it took Castiel twice as long to do the next problem.

Dean opened his Chemistry text book, but rolled onto his back on the couch in the Sunday school room, placing the open book face-down on his stomach. He shut his eyes, a smile still on his face. Castiel let him have the quiet moment, finishing his work as quickly as possible – okay, maybe he did sneak a look at a couple of Dean's answers – before shutting his book and looking up at his friend from his spot on the floor.

"What are you learning about?"

"I don't really know," Dean admitted. "Science is cool and all, but not the science they make you learn in school. I mean, we don't have any class in space exploration or environmental sciences, but they think it's so important for us to know how to balance equations? Or about rocks? What good will that do me in the future?"

Castiel shrugged, but Dean still had his eyes closed and couldn't see him. "What about history?"

"That's more important, I guess. Well, as long as it's stuff like the Holocaust or wars or whatever. I mean I don't really _care_ that the assassination of Franz Ferdinand was the powder keg that started World War I, but fuck, it's better than learning how laws are made. That shit is for people way smarter than me."

"Don't say that," Castiel said, surprised by the softness of his voice. Dean, apparently, was surprised as well. He opened his eyes and turned his head to face Castiel, his face uncharacteristically open. "You're one of the smartest people I know."

Dean snorted, "Yeah, third after you and Sam, right?"

"No," Castiel scooted closer, lifting up his hand before pausing. He wasn't sure where he should place it, where his hand wouldn't be knocked away, and settled on Dean's shoulder. Really, it was more of Dean's arm, but the boy just held his gaze and didn't try to shake him off. "You're way smarter than I am. You haven't even been in school for a month here and you're already excelling. You always know everything about the books we read; you always understand them on a deeper level than I do. You just blew through your math like it was simply adding. While your knowledge of global geography is something to be desired, you're the only one I know who can name every state and capital, not to mention their location on the map and what road would get you there the quickest. You're brilliant, Dean."

Dean was red, an uncomfortable, embarrassed look on his face. For a moment, Dean didn't move or say anything. Then he reached out, covering Castiel's hand over his shoulder. He just rested his palm there, calloused fingers on the back of Castiel's hand, until he gripped. Castiel turned his hand, palm up, so their fingers could slide into place. It was an awkward angle for both of them, but when Dean closed his hand and Castiel felt each of Dean's fingers between his own, it was totally worth the strain it was putting on his wrist.

"You really think so?" Dean asked, looking down at their hands before his eyes drew back up to Castiel's face.

"I know so," Castiel said with conviction, just as Sam had done about Dean's ability to protect. "You sell yourself short. You could be whatever you want to be: a doctor, an engineer, a lawyer, anything."

"Nah," Dean said, breaking eye contact and looking back up at the ceiling. His friend didn't take compliments well – Castiel had already known that – but while he shut down the conversation, he hadn't ended the moment. Instead, Dean's thumb was moving against the back of Castiel's hand, stroking absently like his mind was elsewhere.

"Besides," Castiel added, unable to look away from their joined hands just like he wasn't able to get the blush from leaving his face. "Sam says you're a pretty good writer, so at least I know someone with talent will be writing this ghost story. I'm a terrible writer."

"Oh yeah," Dean said, sitting up and frowning. He let his hand fall from Castiel's, and that was so much farther from where Castiel hoped the handholding would go he couldn't help but frown up at Dean from the floor. "The project. The project that we are here to do. The reason we broke into a church and are spending the night here. Together. That project is something we should totally do."

"W-Wait," Castiel said as Dean stood up, making his way over to his duffle bag on the table. He pulled on his shoes and tossed Castiel his. As Castiel pulled on his shoes, Dean started digging around in his bag. Castiel hadn't seen what was in it yet, but when he stood up, Dean stepped to the side to block his view once more. "Shouldn't we finish our history and science first? I mean… what if we get, you know, wrapped up in the writing and forget to do it or something?"

Dean threw a grin over his shoulder and said, "It's Friday, Cas. If we don't finish the homework today we have the rest of the weekend. However, we do only have one day in the creepy old church. We probably should use that to our advantage, right?"

"It isn't creepy," Castiel insisted. "Nor is it old. Well, I mean it kind of is, but it's not falling apart or abandoned or anything. They keep it up."

"So you aren't scared?" Dean asked, zipping up his bag. When he turned back around he had two flashlights. He held one out to Castiel, but the shorter boy was rooted to the spot with fear and he couldn't get his hand to cooperate enough to take it.

"We don't need flashlights," Castiel's mouth was moving on its own accord. "The lights are on."

"Yeah, well, it's scarier when you can't see everything," Dean said, tossing the flashlight at Castiel. Luckily, his hands shot out to keep it from dropping to the ground. He caught it sloppily, nearly fumbling it; Castiel held it to his chest like it was a lifeline. By the time he had regained enough composure to look up, Dean was already at the door with his hand on the light switch. "Come on," he said, flipping the switch off.

The darkness fell thick over the room, and Castiel was blind. He blinked a few times rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust as he fumbled with the flashlight, feeling around for a switch or a knob to turn the damn thing on. His heart was pounding in his chest; the terror rising in him felt like bile, threatening to come up his throat and out of his mouth.

On the other side of the room, Dean clicked on his flashlight, and shined it toward Castiel. He couldn't see Dean's body – the brightness of the flashlight put everything behind it in shadow – but he illuminated the path to him, and Castiel quickly avoided the table to stand at his friend's side.

"I… I can't get the thing to turn on," Castiel said, not surprised by the raw tone of his voice, but embarrassed by it all the same. If Dean noticed he didn't comment; instead, he just reached out and twisted the top of the flashlight tighter until a beam of his own shot out at the ceiling. Castiel adjusted it in his hands, bringing it to illuminate Dean's face.

The taller boy winced, putting his hand up to block his eyes. "Dude, you're going to blind a guy, here."

"Oh," Castiel pointed the beam down at the floor. "Sorry."

"You better be," Dean said, but he smiled. With the light from both their flashlights, Castiel saw Dean move to put his hand over Castiel's shoulder before he actually felt the pat. Thankfully, too, because he would have screamed if he hadn't seen that it was Dean. "Now before we get going, this is just research, okay? We just are trying to find out what is scary, get ourselves all nice and scared, so we'll be in the mood for writing something to scare others."

"That should be easy," Castiel whispered. "I'm afraid of everything."

A small, soft smile appeared on Dean's face, and his hand trailed from Castiel's shoulder to his bicep, giving it a little squeeze of reassurance. "This is your church, Cas. It isn't haunted or anything. There's nothing here to be scared of except for your own imagination. We just have to tap into the lizard brain fear to make the writing authentic."

"I didn't know there was such things as method writers," Castiel tried to joke, but his voice broke. Dean just squeezed his arm again before letting go.

"We'll have to market it after we win the Pulitzer. Now, come on."

When Dean turned the handle, Castiel was aware how silent it was in the church. It was almost deafening, a loud static sound that amplified every other noise. The clock ticking on the wall sounded like a bomb in a blockbuster movie, big and ready to blow. He could hear the latch freeing from the jamb as Dean turned the handle, the creak of the door – which had sounded the same since Castiel was a child – now sounded loud enough to set off a car alarm three blocks away.

All of it was dwarfed by the sound of his heart beating against his ribcage and the rush of blood through his ears.

When the door stopped squeaking, Dean shined his light through the doorway. He was hesitating – Castiel was sure – for dramatic effect. There was no way he was scared. Unfortunately, when he took a step forward through the threshold of the doorway, Castiel knew he had two options: find a reason to move forward or be rooted to that spot by the door until daybreak.

Castiel reached out his hand, gripping Dean's bicep, allowing the momentum to carry him forward. Dean turned around to look at Castiel, his eyes open wide in the darkness and his lips slightly parted. Castiel tried to draw his hand back, but Dean reached his free hand up and adjusted it so Castiel was hanging on to the inside of his elbow.

It seemed less like he was clinging to Dean for dear life and more like the elder Winchester was guiding him. Castiel could deal with that.

"You ready?" Dean asked, and Castiel just nodded, too afraid to open his mouth in case he threw up.

They were off.

Dean took impossibly small steps, almost as if he was trying to test every creaky floorboard and trying to step around them. His steps were careful, delicate, and Castiel wasn't sure how a boy in boots could walk so silently.

He wasn't having as much luck in the stealth department. For every ginger step Dean took, Castiel was pulled behind him by the death grip his hand had on the other boy's elbow. His steps were heavy and clumsy, and Dean didn't chastise him for sounding like a herd of elephants in the silence of the church until they reached the end of the corridor.

They were at the top of the stairs when Dean turned his head around to look at the frightened boy. Castiel raised his flashlight to Dean's face, but lowered it when the boy winced and cursed the light again. Instead, Castiel gripped the flashlight harder, ready to use it as a weapon if anything happened to jump out at them.

Not that anything was going to jump out, Castiel reminded himself quickly. This was his church. He knew this place backwards and forwards. There was nothing in here that Castiel didn't already know about.

"Quiet down," Dean whispered, voice so low Castiel almost didn't hear it over the silence. "Do you want it to catch us?"

"Don't Dean," Castiel begged, drawing himself closer to the boy. His arms wrapped around Dean's, too afraid to be self conscious as he kept Dean's arm against his chest. "There's nothing here. Please, don't pretend that there is."

"If I can't scare myself, then you're going to have to scare me, Cas," Dean said.

"Boo," Castiel whispered, his own teeth chattering from fear, and Dean smiled, wiggling his arm, trying to get Castiel to give him some slack.

"Where's the scariest room in this place?" Dean asked, and Castiel shook his head, not giving an answer.

His head screamed _not the catacomb, not the catacomb_, but his body shook, unable to give another response. His head was swimming, a half remembered memory bubbling to the surface. The dark, dank cement – he could smell it now, even at the top of the stairs – his hands closed tight around Anna's.

Her hand was tight around his, too, but not comforting, like it usually was. _"Castiel,"_ he could hear Anna whisper to him. _"Castiel, run!"_

"You okay?" Dean asked, no longer whispering. His voice seemed to echo down the stairs, amplifying. It sounded like he was screaming and he noticed Dean's hands were on his face, cupping his head, forcing Castiel to look at him.

For the first time all night, Dean's eyes mirrored what Castiel saw in his own reflection constantly: he was afraid.

"Yeah," Castiel tried to say, but it came out as a broken, ragged sound. He cleared his throat and nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Dean's thumb rubbed at Castiel's cheek, just under his eye, and it wasn't until then that Castiel realized he was crying. He yanked back from Dean as if he had been shocked, facing away and hastily rubbing his jacket sleeve against his face, an embarrassed, angry sound expelling from his throat.

The older Winchester didn't try to reach for Castiel again, not even when he turned back to Dean. He was warm – the blood was rushing to the surface of his body – and when he dared to glance up at Dean, the taller boy was frowning, hands up like he wanted to comfort his friend but he wasn't sure how.

Dean dropped his hands back to his side. "This was a mistake. We shouldn't have come here."

Castiel felt his heart sink. He knew he was a baby, he knew he was afraid of his own shadow, but he hadn't guessed that Dean regretted choosing him for a partner. Anyone else in the class would have jumped at the opportunity to spend the night alone with Dean protecting them; hell, Castiel had jumped at the chance too.

But the others could have faked the afraid part just so they could get Dean to hold them. Castiel couldn't fake it, and Dean wouldn't comfort him like he would have for the girls, with soft lips and a remarkable distraction.

Someone else would have been an easier partner; someone else could have played Dean's little scare game and laughed it off when something made them jump.

Someone else would be able to help Dean write his story and get the grade he deserved.

"I'm sorry," Castiel whispered.

"Hey, no, I didn't mean that I regret… you know, hanging out with you. But we could have just hung out at the motel. Or… even your house? I mean, if that would have been something you'd be into. I didn't need to convince you to come here," Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "We could go, if you want."

"It's dark outside," Castiel whined, then wanted to stab himself for how pathetic he sounded. So he made the first lame excuse that came to mind: "We could get picked up for breaking curfew?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "It's Halloween. Everyone's breaking curfew."

"I'm fine, now," Castiel said, trying to add conviction to his voice. It must have worked, at least a little bit, because Dean looked him over warily. Honestly, though, Castiel was desperate. Even knowing that Anna was wrong, even knowing Dean liked girls, he wanted to have this night – one night – where Dean was only with him. Castiel adored Sam, but Dean was different around his brother. And bringing him home to have a drunken Anna spew all his secrets was out. This was his only option. "I swear I am. I just… my blood sugar must be low."

"Blood sugar?" Dean asked, but then shook his head, taking it back the accusation. Castiel was grateful; he didn't exactly know what blood sugar had to do with how his body functioned but he knew it was something his mother said whenever he was feeling sick or tired. "We can get you some food. I packed some cookies."

"No," Castiel said. "I… uh… I'm fine. We can keep going. The sanctuary is pretty scary, especially in the dark."

"Cas, we really really don't have to…"

"It's for our project, Dean," Castiel said, begging to prove his bravery, begging to prove his worth. "I need to scare you for inspiration, remember?"

"You're doing a damn fine job of that," Dean muttered, but not quietly enough. Castiel felt his face burn again and bit his lip. "Alright, fine. But you've got to stick close to me, okay? And if you get too scared, we'll turn on the lights. It isn't a big deal. It's just a stupid game."

For some reason, though, it felt like more than that. "Okay," Castiel said.

"And be quieter this time," Dean whispered turning back around to face the stairs. Castiel had expected him to move, but instead, he stood there, shining his flashlight down the steps. The shadows were terrifying, Castiel realized, but he took a deep breath in. He wouldn't be afraid of stairs. He wasn't that pathetic.

When Dean still didn't move, Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Dean beat him to it. He threw a look over his shoulder and shook his arm expectantly. "You gonna grab my weenis again or what?"

If Castiel thought he was burning before, it was nothing compared to now. "I hate you, Dean Winchester," he hissed, reaching out and grabbing Dean's arm as the taller boy laughed.

"You think I'm adorable," Dean said before he took the first step, and Castiel followed much more quietly after.

Their trip to the first floor took a while, too. Dean was careful to avoid creaks – once again, Castiel had no idea how a boy his size in those shoes could know how to be so silent – and Castiel was careful not to stomp down just to scare away what wasn't there in the first place.

The mood had shifted again. The silence was ringing in Castiel's ears just behind the sound of their soft breaths. Castiel was breathing a little bit harder than Dean was, but that was because he had one surefire way to combat the fear of the dark and the ambient noises that seemed suddenly so loud around them.

And that was concentrating on Dean.

He had freckles on the back of his neck – Castiel couldn't see them in the dark, but he knew they were there from staring at him occasionally in history class – and he was built like someone who played sports, even though he had sworn up and down that all sports were stupid when Castiel asked him to come to one of his cross country meets.

Dean had shown up, anyway. And even though Sam was standing right there, Dean wrapped his arms around the exhausted, panting, sweaty boy and congratulated him. Castiel jerked off twice that night – once in the shower as soon as he got home and once before he went to bed – because he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without relieving some of the tension coursing though his body.

It wasn't until they were down the stairs that Castiel realized he was walking too close to Dean, his hip checking against the other boy's on every few steps. He couldn't move farther back or Dean would be dragging him by the arm, but he could move to the side.

He didn't, and Dean didn't say anything when they brushed against one another.

By the time Dean was turning the door handle to the sanctuary, Castiel's fear was growing again. It wasn't the sanctuary itself that was causing the fear – although all sanctuaries looked sort of creepy in the dark – no, Castiel liked to get to church early Sunday morning and turn all the lights on. It was the one room he knew as well in the dark as he did in the light; hell, it might be the only room in existence that he wasn't afraid to be in with the lights off.

He was scared because while thinking about his friend was certainly a distraction from the fear, it came with its own set of problems; namely, that if Dean turned his flashlight on him or bumped into him just right, he would feel the evidence of his attraction.

That would be far more embarrassing than when Dean caught him crying.

So it was because he needed to get away from Dean to clear his head, and because he was in the least scary room in existence, that he pulled the door closed behind him and patted Dean's shoulder with his free hand.

Dean jumped with a soft hiss of, "Damn it, Cas." Castiel had never been prouder.

"Let's split up," Castiel whispered, close to Dean's ear. His heart hammered in his chest, trying not to think about what the soft flesh of his neck would look like bitten and marked with hickeys left there by Castiel. When Dean turned around, he didn't raise his flashlight to Castiel's lap, but in the soft glow, Castiel could recognize Dean's surprise.

"You want to split up? That's rooky mistake number one."

"Are you scared?" Castiel teased, and he watched as Dean's eyes shifted from Castiel's face to the altar at the front of the room. It was covered with a red cloth and candles, and just behind the altar stood two, throne-like chairs. Above the chairs was a large crucifix, Jesus' head dangling in pain as his weak body slumped down the cross.

When Dean's eyes found Castiel's again, he shook his head. "I'm not scared."

Castiel recognized the tone in his voice and he whispered, "It's a sanctuary, Dean. This is the safest place in the church."

"Safest," Dean echoed, eyes darting back to Jesus for a moment. "The dude creeps me out, okay?"

"Jesus?" Castiel asked, trying to hide his amusement. "Jesus creeps you out?"

"Shut up," Dean hissed, and Castiel laughed. "You're afraid your shadow, and I just happen to think your Lord and Savior looks a little creepy in the dark. And just so you know, those stupid rules you hear about demons not being able to get into a church because it's holy isn't true. Demons _love_ the clergy, man. And demons are scary. I mean ghosts are nothing, but demons… demons…"

"What are you _talking _about?" Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes at Dean. The taller boy just waved his hand and shook his head.

"I'll scope this side. You can check it out over there," Dean said as he started walking away.

"Scope _what_ Dean?" Castiel whispered loudly, watching Dean's light get farther away. "There's nothing in here, remember?"

Castiel stood in the dark for a moment, thoughts of demons echoing though his head. Dean was well versed in monster lore; the boy had been discussing vampires, werewolves, and something called a rugaru after every spooky story their English teacher made them read for the past month. They had been given time in class today to work on their projects, but Dean had stood up in front of the whole class and told everyone if they were going to write about ghosts, they had to get the facts right.

Castiel was awed by his conviction. Nobody in the class even laughed or made fun of him – not like they did the time the nervous coffee drinker in the back of the room had gone on a rant about alien abduction – they were so surprised by his outburst that a handful of them had taken notes of some kind, afraid the teacher had put him up to it and it would be on their mythical creatures of the week test.

When Dean sat down and they started working on outlining their story, Dean had suggested using the Lady in White lore before launching onto a tirade about _something_. Castiel hadn't paid much attention. There were more pressing matters stealing his thoughts at the time, namely the way Dean would occasionally bite his lip as he paused in his speech. This turned into other pressing matters when Castiel had to try and shift awkwardly to hide the way his dick was pressing against his jeans.

He couldn't help his body's physiological response to Dean's passion, especially when all he could think about was that passion for lore and mythology giving away to a passion shared between them. The hot press of Dean's mouth against his own, their bodies flush and rocking against one another, Dean whispering reassurances as he pressed a finger into him, preparing him for…

Castiel shook his head again, shining his flashing up to search the pews for Dean. He was nearly at the other end of the church, preoccupied by thumbing through one of the hymnals. He looked interested, like he was really searching for clues, until he saw Castiel's beam on him and he looked up.

Before he could stop himself, Castiel turned around and walked away from Dean, up the steps to the altar. He rested his hand on the fabric and shined his flashlight up at the crucifix. He was frowning; something was undeniably wrong with him. Most people didn't have such a profound crush on their best friends, nor were most people terrified of everything, and neither of those things were doing anything to save his heart.

He wasn't sure the last time his heart had been beating at a normal rate – how long ago were they doing homework, again? Was it even beating normally then? – and he knew that having an overly high heart rate for long periods of time increased the risk of death even if the person was physically fit like he was. Sure, he might have been a little overly worried. His adrenalin and hormones couldn't keep it up forever; eventually he would have to crash.

Right?

And looking up at the crucifix, he had to begrudgingly agree that Dean was a little bit right about it being creepy. Castiel never thought about whether Jesus was supposed to be dead or still struggling against suffocation, but he thought it was the latter, due to the fact he wasn't completely slumped down, dead weight being held up by nails in his hands. There was an excessive amount of blood to make it visible in the pews. It trailed down his face from the thorn crown, down his hands and feet from the nails, and from the puncture mark in his side.

Up close, Castiel could see other wounds and abrasions marking his body, scrapes on his knees and arms, trails of blood spilling over his ribs and abdominal muscles. Castiel's eyes trailed back up to Jesus' sad face, the way the eyes seemed far away and out of focus, when he felt a hand on his hip.

Castiel screamed, jerking away and hitting his hip painfully against the altar. He was an idiot, he knew, because his hands went up to defend himself but he managed to drop the flashlight in the process. It clanged against the floor, flickering for a moment, before Dean bent down and picked it up. He held it in his hand for a moment before grinning up at Castiel.

The dark haired boy put a hand against his chest, not even trying to count the beats of his accelerated heart rate. He was too busy worrying about an early onset heart attack to notice that Dean screwed the top of his flashlight looser until the beam shooting out toward the ceiling disappeared.

"I didn't think you were scared anymore."

"Yeah, well," Castiel huffed. "You can't just sneak up on people."

"I had an idea," Dean said, dropping his voice and moving closer to Castiel. Needless to say, the dark haired boy's heart rate didn't return to normal. They were almost thigh to thigh and chest to chest – Castiel couldn't move back any further, he was nearly sitting on the altar as it was – when Dean sat Castiel's flashlight next to a candle on the cloth covering the stone.

He was so close, when he turned back to face Castiel, he could feel the puff of Dean's breath against his neck. "What kind of idea?"

"An idea to get me as riled up as you are," Dean said, moving back just slightly. "I'm not as easy to scare, you see, but I hate being chased. I get real… Let's just say that I get nervous when I know someone is out there looking for me."

"You get chased a lot?" Castiel asked.

"More than you'd think, to be honest," Dean grinned, leaning closer. Castiel felt Dean's thigh slip between his legs, Dean's palm press against his chest. The older Winchester leaned forward and murmured, "Find me if you can."

Castiel was still processing their proximity so he didn't realized Dean had even stepped away until he was hopping down the steps of the altar. Castiel watched the flashlight's beam make its way to the door. He saw the door open and watched the light disappear.

When Dean shut the door, Castiel was left leaning against the altar in complete darkness.

Even though he was the one who turned the sanctuary lights on every Sunday before church, it was undeniably different than it was in darkness now. His church was on a desolate road, two blocks away from the nearest house back in Haven; it was way out in the middle of the corn field. They didn't have street lights this far out of town – nobody ever walked down this road after dark – and while there was one fog light outside shining up at the building, it was on the other side of the church.

On Sunday mornings, Castiel was not walking in complete darkness. The sanctuary had stained glass windows, and while it wasn't optimal for letting light in, the room was still somewhat lit, painted with soft yellows and browns. The sun was down now, there was nothing but the faint glow of the moon to light up the stained glass windows, and after ten seconds of sitting in complete, blinding darkness, Castiel wasn't even completely sure he even had his eyes opened.

He blinked, just to make sure, then reached his hand out to feel long the cloth of the altar, trying to find the flashlight.

His fingers brushed against metal seconds before he heard an echoing bang. He made a grab for it, but the flashlight rolled off the altar, crashing to the steps. Castiel dropped to his hands and knees, heart rate picking up at the thought of his only source of light disappearing under a pew to be lost forever.

On his hands and knees, he followed the sound of the rolling, eyes open as wide as they could go. His pupils, he knew, would be dilated as far as they could go, but it didn't help at all. He couldn't see anything.

It was a miracle when his fingers touched cool metal again. He sat back on his haunches, but quickly dropped his knees to the floor again, shins on the ground, sitting back against his feet. Now that he had seen Dean turn the flashing on and off, he knew how to operate the damn thing. He fumbled for a few seconds, gripping the base of the flashlight while his fingers twisted the top. Of course, he twisted the wrong way at first; he nearly unscrewed the top of the flashlight all together before he switched directions.

Panic started welling in Castiel's chest, tight and constricting, unsure if the fall might have broken the lens or the bulb or something. He thought about trying to search Dean out blind, only to finally screw it in enough for the beam to come out.

It flickered momentarily – and maybe something did get knocked loose – before the beam steadied out, paining one line of light up to the ceiling.

Rationally, Castiel knew he had only been alone for a minute at the most. He swung the flashlight over the room, scanning the parameter, half expecting to illuminate a corner of the room only to find some small, demonic creature or a large, shadowlike ghost rushing him.

It wasn't the case; of course it wasn't. Those things didn't exist.

Castiel took a deep breath in. He only noticed then that he was gasping for breath, and he hadn't remembered holding it until his body was practically screaming for it. He sat on his feet for a few moments, one hand clenched around his flashlight, the other raised to his neck. He found his pulse easily, and he waited there for a couple of long minutes as his body regulated itself the best it could.

He knew he was still afraid – he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and the way his body was buzzing with the desire to run or put up his fists – but it was as good as he could ask for right now. He wouldn't be able to calm down again until he found Dean, dragged him back upstairs to the safety of the Sunday school room, and they finished writing this absurd story.

Castiel removed the hand on his neck and put it on the ground, pushing himself back up to his feet. He tottered uneasily for a moment, the blood rushing through his body, making his already limited vision darken and swim for a few uncomfortable seconds.

It took him a couple more seconds to convince his feet to start moving toward the door, but once he made it, he felt a small surge of accomplishment. He gripped the door handle for a brief moment, savoring the pride in his belly's futile attempts to beat back the fear, before he turned the door and stepped back into the two large, joined rooms.

After shutting the sanctuary door, Castiel let his flashlight make a quick pass over the entire room, checking for some glaring, out of place detail like the sudden addition of a Dean-shaped corpse or some blood or intestines. When he found none of the above, nothing out of the ordinary at all, he took a few hesitant steps into the room.

This church was a second home to him; he grew up playing hide and seek here. The only difference between those thousands of games he played when he was a kid and now was the darkness and a new, unpredictable opponent.

Castiel was sure if he could put the fear aside, even just part of the fear, he would be able to find Dean in a matter of minutes.

He doubted Dean was hiding in the bathroom, and that left the open dining room with the tables and the kitchen left on this floor. Castiel thought briefly of his hiding spot in one of the kitchen cabinets. It was deep enough to where he could still fit, and he knew that there were still paper towels stacked in the front. It was the perfect hiding spot, but it wasn't one Dean would know about.

Dean wouldn't be in there.

He could go to the main staircase, but Castiel turned his head to the right, looking at the back set of stairs. Dean would have wanted to leave the main room as soon as possible. The stairway up was open, but the stairway down had stuff in front of it.

It had been that back passage that he had cried in Anna's arms in, paralyzed with fear. It was a decent hideout because the stairs were blocked from the first floor; only the smallest children could wiggle their way out of the small opening in the door. That meant it was a terrible hide out for the older kids, who had essentially backed themselves into a corner and couldn't make a run for it.

When they played hide and seek, you were only out when you were tagged. Chases could last a lifetime between the three floors, especially if a handful of kids left hiding to make it confusing for the chaser.

Castiel walked into the room where the back stairs were and smiled.

Some of the stuff had been moved just enough to make room for a larger body to squeeze though. Castiel opened the door – half hidden by the junk in front of it – as far as it would go, turning sideways so his body could slip through the crack. It wasn't until the door was shut behind him that he realized he had acted without thought, without fear.

Because these stairs were never used, there wasn't even a light bulb in the socket. Last time he had been in here, he had cried. Armed with a flashlight, he tested out the steps before he eased his way down, not wanting to tip Dean off if he was hiding in the small room that attached to the corridor. Castiel was surprisingly quiet; the pride he felt was swelling and beating back the fear, and when he hit the landing and pushed the door open, his heart beat hadn't returned to a normal, resting tempo. Instead, it was beating hard with excitement.

He was overcoming his irrational fear. He would find Dean, and he would prove to him that he could help write that stupid paper. He could be brave enough for that.

The second he stepped out into the corridor, everything changed.

Castiel put his hand out, bracing himself against the wall. His head was swimming again, as if someone had pumped gas into the room and his brain was suffocating from it. All four doors were shut – the two to the right, the office and the kids room, as well as the choir practice room at the far end of the hallway – but the final door, the door to his left, caught his attention.

The door to the catacomb didn't look touched, but something was screaming in his head about it. It was loud – like a snowy, static channel on television – but there weren't any sounds coming through. It had happened occasionally throughout his childhood, leaving him with splitting headaches and terror of a brain tumor, but when it subsided this time, something was different. He was terrified, but focused. When it finally dwindled away back into silence, Castiel couldn't take his eyes off the door.

Something didn't feel right.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to clear himself from the attack. He needed to find Dean; if he found Dean, they could spend the rest of the night safely together.

His legs were shaking, his arm on the wall steadying his steps forward. He couldn't help but think of Dean – Dean who wanted to be scared, who was only afraid of Sam getting hurt and being chased and found – and how the brave boy would obviously hide in the scariest room in the place.

Castiel put his hand on the door handle. It took three tries, but finally it turned. He pushed the door open, but didn't step inside. He hadn't pushed hard enough, and the door moved slowly, using the uneven floor as inertia to keep moving. Castiel held up his flashlight, and slowly the room was revealed.

When Castiel was younger – a lot younger, maybe three or four – something had happened here. He could feel it flashing in his mind, bile rising up his throat at the memory.

It was Anna and him, standing in the center under the one light in the room. She was holding his hands, her eyes were closed and her hair was blowing about her face.

The light bulb blew, Castiel had started crying, and they never spoke of it again. He could trace his overpowering, irrational fears back to that moment. Whatever happened – whatever caused Anna's hair to move, the light to break into shards of glass above his head – had changed him profoundly.

What Castiel saw now was infinitely worse than that.

Dead center in the room, there was a chair with a man sitting in it... no, not a man. It was horrendous, hideous. There was something wrong with the nose, the cheeks hollow and dark. He was gaunt, corpse-like, and terrifying. Even though the thing – was it a man? was he alive? – was slumped forward and bloodied, he was attached to the chair at the wrists by some sort of leather band to keep him from escaping. His mouth had something over it too, a strange symbol etched on the leather. There was a movement from the far side of the room – someone, another creature with the same horrible face, was in there with the man in the chair – and Castiel took a step back.

He had never crossed into the room, but now he was in the center of the hallway.

There was something loud again – so loud it was vibrating in Castiel's head, his throat – it seemed to completely overtake the silence, ripping it violently into jagged pieces. His flashlight dropped to his side, flicking off and rolling away.

He couldn't see the men in the room, he couldn't see anything, he couldn't hear anything but the scream.

And then nothing.

* * *

Suddenly, Castiel was very aware of the pain in his body. His veins felt like they were on fire, like his lungs were struggling to get the oxygen to his body. His arms and legs and head felt heavy, like dead weight, and when he opened his eyes, he took a deep breath in only to turn onto his side and start coughing.

Somehow, he managed to get his hands under him, pushing himself up enough so that he could look down at the floor. His coughing turned violent, and when it got to the point where he was choking on his own breath, he felt something in his body shutter.

He dry-heaved twice, tears in his eyes before he managed to sit back against his feet again, hands on his face, trying to regain his composure.

It was then that he felt the hand on his back.

Castiel whipped around, using his arm to knock the hand away. He lost his balance with the movement, coming down to sit on his butt. His hands were behind him, trying to crab-walk himself away before he recognized Dean. He slumped against the wall, breathing heavily.

"What the hell happened, Cas?" Dean asked, voice breaking. For a moment, he sat in the center of the corridor. Castiel saw that his friend's eyes were at his chest, watching rise and fall with his labored breaths. Castiel could see Dean's hesitation, but he also saw the shift. Dean was brave, braver than Castiel, and when he approached him, he did it slowly, gently, like he was afraid of scaring Castiel further.

Dean sat down in front of him. He reached forward with a careful, deliberate move, making sure Castiel saw it was him before he placed a hand on each of Castiel's knees. He leaned forward into the dark haired boy's personal space, drawing his complete focus. Dean's palms were warm, even though Castiel's jeans. When he spoke again, his voice sounded foreign, afraid, "Cas, are you okay?"

"I saw…" Castiel paused, then flinched again. He tried to get out from under Dean, to move to run, but Dean moved his hands to Castiel's shoulders, holding him down, _shushing_ him as if that would be any comfort. Castiel could feel his own panic, raw and wild. He could hear it in his voice when he begged, "Dean something's _in there_. We need to leave. We need to get out of here now."

Dean squeezed his shoulders, eyes narrowing. "What did you see?"

"A man or something… tied to a chair, and… some symbol over his mouth, and… another person in the corner. Dean, I think he was torturing him. We need to go, Dean. If they find us…"

"It's been five minutes," Dean whispered. The look in his eye wasn't exactly fear, but it wasn't far from it. "You screamed, Cas. You were only out here for ten seconds before I got to you. It took me five minutes to wake you up. They didn't come out. They didn't… there can't be anyone here. They would have…" but he didn't continue.

Instead, he stood up and pulled out a small pocket knife. He thumbed open the blade, then reached for the door.

Castiel stood, unable to sit defenseless on the ground. He wasn't being brave, he wasn't a sidekick, but he knew he would need to run. He stood behind Dean – he didn't want to see what was in the room again – but he couldn't leave Dean either.

When Dean pushed the door open, he did so with force. The door banged against the wall on the other side, his knife held in a way that would be useful for an attack. It wasn't necessary.

The catacomb was empty except for a chair under the one light. There was no man in the chair. There was no trace of blood on the floor. There was no man torturing anyone.

Castiel pushed past Dean into the catacomb, flicking the light on to illuminate the cement room. It looked normal – it actually looked less scary than it did in the daylight – and Castiel almost passed out again.

"Wh… What?"

"Cas, I…" Dean started.

"There was something in here, Dean. He was… he was bloody, and he was tied to the chair and there was another person in the corner. They were _here_, Dean. I swear, I saw…"

Dean gripped Castiel's arm and pulled him from the room. He didn't let go, even as he stepped around Castiel to close the door, handing the boy back his flashlight. The dark haired boy was frantic, desperate to tell his friend what he saw, but Dean put his hand on Castiel's back and started pushing him up the stairs.

"This is all my fault," Dean said from behind him. His voice was low, but not a whisper. He sounded sad. "I shouldn't have asked you to come here. I _knew_ how you were, and I just thought…"

"I saw them," Castiel insisted, trying to twist around when they hit the landing to the first floor. Dean didn't break contact; he just shifted, guiding Castiel toward the next set of stairs. He didn't have the fight in him, not when they were moving away from the room. "The window… they could have left through the small, basement window."

"You're stressed," Dean said. "You're scared. When a person is scared, his body is on high alert. There's no way you saw two men in that room. They didn't come out of the room, and a torture victim isn't going to just climb out of window when some teenager sees him. That wasn't… This is my fault."

Castiel tried to dig his feet in, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Instead, he allowed Dean to march him back to the Sunday school room, growing more and more defeated with every step.

It wasn't that Dean didn't believe him – that didn't bother him because the further away he got, the more the terror gave away to exhaustion – it was that he realized that he didn't really know. He couldn't remember what clothes the man in the chair was wearing. He couldn't name anything about the second man at all.

It wouldn't be the first time his imagination had run wild, but it was the first time he had managed to scare himself so badly that he had dropped unconscious because of it. What a stupid defense mechanism. What if something had been in there? It would have come out and killed him, and he wouldn't have even been able to fight back or run.

By the time Dean sat him down on the couch in the Sunday school room, turned on the lights, and took away the flashlight, Castiel was trembling again. He wrapped his arms around himself; his shame was so potent that he could practically smell it. For a few moments, he sat with his head down. Eventually, he raised his head when he heard Dean packing his duffle bag.

He didn't stand, didn't try to get a sneak at whatever Dean thought to bring.

It wasn't until then that he noticed the slew of commentary Dean was muttering, either. He was repeating, "Stupid idea," over and over again, throwing in the occasional "What was I thinking?" and "What have I done?" for good measure.

Dean had packed his books back in his backpack – had repacked Castiel's books too – and was walking to the other side of the room to grab their towels and wet jackets, which had dried and were hanging up on the backside of some chairs when Castiel's voice finally allowed him to speak.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean froze for a split second before he turned to face Castiel. In the light of the room, which seemed so bright after they wandered around the church with only flashlights to guide them, Dean looked furious. He pointed a finger at Castiel, and the shorter boy couldn't help but look down at the accusation.

"You're sorry?" Dean asked. His voice was loud, and Castiel felt the tears sting his eyes. He was embarrassed enough. He didn't want a further declaration of how he had let Dean down. "You're a fucking moron, Cas, if you think you have anything to be sorry for. I'm sorry, okay. I'm so fucking sorry. I knew, and I didn't care. I still brought you here, still put you up to it. What kind of friend does that? What kind of…"

Dean cut himself off, but Castiel still didn't have it in him to look at the other boy. Eventually, though, he didn't have a choice. Dean gripped Castiel's arm and pulled; the dark haired boy allowed himself to be dragged to his feet. He turned his face again, bracing for a punch.

He felt something warm encompassing him, and it took far longer than it should have for him to realize it was his friend.

Dean had his arms wrapped around Castiel's middle. For a moment, they stood awkwardly together, but as soon as Dean made a move to let go, Castiel threw his arms over Dean's shoulders. It was probably a mistake – he knew how his body reacted with just his imagination of Dean – and having the boy pressed against him would do nothing to help hide his attraction, but he didn't care.

And when Castiel put his chin on Dean's shoulder, the taller boy wrapped his arms tighter. His hands were so far around his back that his palms were pressing against the side of Castiel's ribs. The pressure of his arms, the weight of his hands on his ribcage, made Castiel feel safe.

He didn't care that he had apparently been so scared his imagination ran away from him. All he cared about was the warm body in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Cas," Dean murmured near his ear. His breath was hot, his lips touching Castiel's skin as they moved. "You're… you're the best friend I've ever made at a school before, and I care too much about you to… Christ, you're going to hate me and develop a complex. I didn't mean to put you at any sort of psychological or emotional risk, I just wanted to get you alone…"

Something in Castiel's chest flipped, and he pulled back from Dean just enough to see him. "You wanted to get me alone?"

"I… I…" Dean started. His face colored, but it did nothing to hide the freckles across the bridge of his nose. "What I mean is that I… Damn it, Cas. I'm pretty good at reading people, but I can't get a read on you."

"What about me?" Castiel asked. They were already hugging, and somehow, Cas' body bypassed his brain. His hands, which had been resting on Dean's shoulders, holding him at arm's length, moved up the boy's neck until he was cupping the sides of Dean's face. He felt the heat transferring from Dean's face, saw the boy's wide, surprised eyes, and knew he should be embarrassed. He knew he did something he shouldn't have, but try as he might, he couldn't force his hands off of Dean's face.

"Damn it, Cas," Dean said again, but this time, the corners of his mouth were turned upward just slightly. He knew he was staring at Dean's lips, but Castiel couldn't help but mimicking the other boy's smile. When he looked back up, Dean's eyes were sliding shut.

Despite the fact it was Castiel's hands on Dean's face, it was Dean who moved forward, pressing his lips against Castiel's. For a moment, the dark haired boy was sure this was another hallucination out of fear – he actually wasn't completely convinced he had woken up in the first place – but then he felt Dean's large hands move from the grip around Castiel's middle to the small of his back, his fingers resting against his spine, and Castiel was sure he could never dream with such accuracy.

Because he had dreamt about it before, but it had never felt as real as this.

As soon as it started, Dean was pulling back. His eyes were wide, an open, timid expression on his usually cocksure face. "Is… Was that okay? I didn't… misread anything, did I?"

Castiel could feel his heart beating in his chest; he could feel the way that despite the chaste press of lips, he was struggling to regain his breath. He knew his tells when it came to fear – he even knew that he combated fear with a somewhat different burst of adrenalin – but more than anything, Castiel knew that Dean didn't misread any of the frankly obvious signs he had been giving him subconsciously for the past month.

The dark haired boy couldn't help the smile – he had been so scared before, and he felt so alive now – before he let one of his hands slip to the back of Dean's neck. The pointer and middle finger of his other hand found Dean's pulse point on his neck easily. The boy didn't push Castiel away, though he did flinch at having someone so close to such a major artery.

Dean's heart, Castiel felt, was beating just as fast as his.

"No, Dean," Castiel said, raising his eyes to look back up at his friend. His pupils were huge, uncharacteristically large in the light of the room. "I wanted to spend time alone with you, too."

"Don't feel… you know… _pressured_ to do anything, I just…" Dean started, but he was cut off when Castiel pulled on the back of his neck, letting the hand over his pulse slide down the entire front of Dean's body to settle on his hip. This time, Castiel kissed Dean, and neither of them pulled back.

It was slow – far too slow for how quickly Castiel's heart was beating the blood through his body – but Castiel had no experience kissing anyone before and he wasn't exactly sure how to turn the soft press into the kisses he saw in the movies.

Luckily, Dean did.

Somehow, Dean's hands had left Castiel's back without him noticing because they were currently in his hair, gripping the dark locks and keeping their mouths close together. Dean pulled back just slightly, and when he pressed forward again, his mouth was partly open before it closed around Castiel's bottom lip.

Instincts took over, and Castiel opened his lips just a bit wider, pressing his tongue out to taste his friend's lip. Dean responded by returning the favor, and when Castiel felt Dean's tongue press against his own somewhere between their lips, his fingers clamped down on Dean's hips.

He would have worried about hurting him, but Dean made a soft, pleased noise. Then they were kissing some more.

It wasn't like the movies. Occasionally, they would bump noses as they went to switch the angle or one of them would open their mouth too wide or they would press forward too enthusiastically and they would winced at the knock of their teeth. Castiel knew these mistakes were mostly his, but Dean never complained, never stopped kissing him, only offered a reassuring smile before he was pushing back in to kiss him again.

Castiel had no idea how long they stood in the Sunday school room and kissed; he only knew that his legs were shaking, so he tried to sit down and pull Dean down with him. Unfortunately, instead of straddling his lap or pushing him down and crawling on top of him like Castiel wanted, Dean broke the kiss and settled easily at Castiel's side.

He could see Dean's chest rising and falling, and Castiel was a little proud that he could affect Dean's breathing – any of Dean's physiological processes – like that.

"I… I didn't know if you would hit me if I just went for it," Dean admitted, drawing his leg up on the couch so he could sit sideways, facing Castiel.

Castiel drew both of his legs up, sitting cross-legged, facing back toward Dean. "Anna told me that I was obvious with my crush on you," he admitted.

It was worth it to see Dean's face light up. The grin was so genuine, so happy, it made Castiel want to kiss him again. "You have a crush on me?"

"As I said, I was told I was pretty obvious. Anna assured me that you knew."

"I had hoped," Dean shrugged. "But… you're scared of everything, Cas. I didn't want you to be afraid of me."

"I would never be afraid of you," Castiel said, reaching across their laps to grab Dean's hand. The taller boy smirked.

"I'm sure you could be scared of me," Dean said. "But I didn't want you to be afraid that I would try something with you or force you to do anything that you don't want to do. Sometimes people find out and they… they treat you different, you know? I didn't want you to be scared of me for that."

"I'm not afraid," Castiel repeated, trying to have conviction in his voice. It might have been nearly true – he wasn't afraid of Dean, wasn't afraid that he would make him do anything – but he was a little scared. Well, timid. Shy. Nervous, but not scared. As if to prove it, Castiel leaned forward, kissing Dean once again. It was awkward, kissing across their laps, but Castiel didn't pull away from the contact and neither did Dean.

"You don't have to let fear rule your life, Castiel," Dean murmured against his lips. "I won't be able to protect you forever, and I need to know you'll be brave when I'm gone. I don't want to be afraid that you've given yourself a heart attack by looking at your shadow. I need to know that I've helped you, somehow. Otherwise, I'm just selfish. I'm just taking this from you, and I…"

"You aren't taking anything I don't want to give, Dean," Castiel said, hands cupping Dean's face and dragging him forward to place another kiss on his lips. It was brief, chaste, and when Castiel pulled back, Dean looked dazed from his want. "Please, Dean. I can be brave. Let me show you. Let me, please."

"Are you… sure?" Dean asked. "I didn't drag you here with that being the goal, but if you're asking, I'm not going to say no."

"I wanted to get you alone, too," Castiel said. Dean drew back and looked at him, eyes trailing over his face, pausing over his lips, before dropping lower. Castiel had to fight the urge to cover himself. After hiding for so long, it seemed strange that he was allowing Dean to look, that Dean was looking and he wasn't embarrassed or angry. He needed Dean to see – see that he wanted this too – and when Dean looked back up at Castiel's face, there was something dark, almost like hunger, in his eyes. Castiel didn't know what else to say, how to get his mouth back on his, his hands running all over Castiel's body, except for to beg. "Please, Dean."

"Fuck," Dean whispered, reaching across to put his hand over Castiel's shoulder, keeping him close, but not close enough to kiss. "Yeah, okay, we could… we could do something. Fuck yeah we could do something. What are you thinking? What's your favorite?"

"I…" Castiel couldn't believe his body had blood to spare, but his torso seemed to be on fire. He wanted to pull his shirt off to get some breathing room for his skin, and also maybe to get Dean touching it. "I don't know. I haven't…"

"Oh," Dean said, looking up at Castiel. "You, uh, you sure you don't want to wait for someone better? Someone who'll be around for a while?"

"I want it to be you," Castiel said, putting his hands on the back of Dean's neck. He lied down on his back, unfolding his knees and pulling Dean down to settle between his legs. The taller boy didn't hold himself back; he just drew himself down, holding himself up on his elbows on both sides of Castiel's ribs. Dean's chest was pressed against Castiel's stomach – Castiel could feel Dean's stomach against his erection – and the dark haired boy tried to tug, tried to get Dean's mouth closer to his own, tried to get some friction through his jeans "Your dad could come back anytime, and you'll leave. This might be the only time we have."

"You deserve better than a couch," Dean said, trailing his fingers over Castiel's shirt. He leaned over, pressing three soft kisses against his chest. The shorter boy tried to stay still, but he failed. "Better than me."

"Don't want anyone but you," Castiel said, finally gripping Dean by the biceps and pulling him further up his body with a surprising amount of strength. Dean seemed surprised by it too, but that sound quickly gave way to another as Castiel pulled Dean down, kissing him once again.

This time, Dean seemed to accept Castiel's desire because he didn't pull away, didn't try to convince him to wait. And he didn't treat him like a scared, blushing virgin, timid and shy and unsure, and Castiel was grateful because he was sure. Inexperienced, yes, but not unenthusiastic. He hoped it would make up for his lack of form.

The couch wasn't incredibly wide, but Dean pushed himself up from his elbows to his hands, moving on his knees closer to Castiel. It broke the kiss, but not complete contact. Castiel's legs weren't resting on the couch, but over Dean's thighs. Castiel couldn't quiet control his shifting, trying to move his clothed cock against Dean's. The angle was wrong – Dean's hips were too far away – but Castiel raised his hips to grind against him.

"Oh, fuck," Dean breathed, dropping his forehead to Castiel's shoulder. He reached one of his hands back to grip Castiel's hip, trying to help keeping him there as he rocked forward. "Alright, alright. Hang on," Dean breathed. "Jeans off. So much better with jeans off."

Castiel laughed when Dean sat back up, letting Castiel's hips drop back to the couch. Dean's hands fumbled at his own belt, and Castiel sat up, knocking his hands away to help him.

Somehow, Dean seemed to make faster work at taking Castiel's belt off than his own, anyway.

They were racing, but it was still slow. Wild grins pressed against each other, turning into sloppy kissing before the boys remembered they had a task to accomplish and started working on buttons and zippers again.

Castiel lifted his hips and started pushing his own jeans down, but with Dean between his thighs it was impossible. It turned into a tangle of limbs – Dean had to avoid one of Castiel's legs and stand up next to the couch before they could both pull off the jeans, only to be stopped again when they realized they had forgotten to take off their shoes when their pants around their knees – and by the time they were both looking over each other in their underwear, their small huffs of breath from before had turned into smiles and laughter at the awkward desperation between them.

The laughter in Castiel's chest died down when he let himself look at Dean's lap. His boxer briefs were tight – tighter than Castiel's plain white ones anyway – and the outline of his cock against the material made Castiel flush. When he looked back up at Dean's face, he noticed his friend's gaze was similar, and Castiel tried to cover himself, wishing he had a pair of underwear like Dean's.

Dean reached out, gripping Castiel's arm, but he didn't force the dark haired boy to move his hands away. Instead, he cleared his throat, looked back up at Castiel's face and said. "Shirts."

The shorter boy sat up as if it was a command, pulling off his hoodie before he reached his hands behind his head to grip his t-shirt between his shoulder blades. He was stopped, however, when Dean stepped closer, leaning over to push the shirt back up Castiel's chest. Instead, Castiel lifted his arms and allowed Dean to pull the material up and over his head.

"Whoa," Dean said, tossing the shirt to join their jeans and socks before he shucked his own jacket, standing in front of Castiel in just his boxers and a t-shirt. "I didn't think you'd be ripped like that."

"I'm…" Castiel said, looking down at his own chest, fighting the urge to cover himself again. "I'm a cross country runner."

"Yeah, so I guessed you'd have insane leg muscles," Dean said, running his hand over Castiel's thigh. The dark haired boy felt his muscles twitched then an embarrassed chuckle escaped his lips. He felt Dean's hold tighten, like he was trying to get a handful of the muscle but was unable to do so.

Suddenly, Dean was fitting one of his knees between Castiel's hip and the back of the couch. There was only just enough room for his other knee on the other side of Castiel's hip. He lowered himself to Castiel's thighs, and it was strange, Dean's weight on his legs. It was stranger still when Dean reached his hands out, running his calloused fingers over Castiel's chest like it was some prize to be worshiped.

"I never realized what you had hiding under all those lumpy shirts. Not even in my wildest dreams did you look anything but a nerd."

"I'm… I'm sorry?" Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Fuck no," Dean said, catching Castiel's nipple with his thumb. Castiel arched his chest into it. "You're just… you're just incredibly hot, Cas. Not that I didn't think so before, cause I did, but damn. I can't believe you aren't beating girls off with a stick. Can't believe you don't realize that you have pick of the litter."

"I don't," Castiel said. When Dean moved his hand away from Castiel's nipple, the shorter boy whined, and he flushed. Castiel was embarrassed by the needy sound but Dean just smiled at him. Dean placed his large hands on either side of Castiel's ribs and leaned down, the flat of his tongue running slowly over his flesh. The dark haired boy reached his hand up to cup the back of Dean's head, trying to keep his head there. "Oh, God."

When he felt Dean's teeth close lightly over his nipple, Castiel tried to rock his hips forward, but with Dean's back arched to reach the other boy's chest, Castiel wasn't able to find any friction. He could feel the tiny muscles at the base of each hair all over his body contract, goose bumps dotting his flesh with arousal. Dean moved his head back, running his fingers over Castiel's chest for a moment, as if he was trying to warm the skin or soothe him, before he blew a puff of cold air over his chest. Castiel couldn't hold back the whine again, when he felt the coolness over his wet, stimulated nipple.

"You do," Dean murmured. His breath was warm now, and Castiel groaned. "I've seen the way they look at you. Can't believe you didn't stick it in every one of them. Can't believe you wanted me more."

He tried to pull Dean's mouth toward him once more, but Dean managed to move on to the other nipple, and Castiel wished he had the strength to hold back the embarrassing sounds.

Dean didn't seem to mind them; actually, it seemed quite the contrary. Every time his breathing hitched or a soft, pleased sound escaped from his throat, Dean reacted. The first time, he dug his fingernails into the flesh at Castiel's ribs, only to pull back and run the pads of his fingers over the half-moon marks to soothe them, to apologize. The second time, Dean responded with his own pleased sound. It was low, a hum of appreciation that accompanied a small kiss over Castiel's heart before he returned to the task at hand.

The third time, Dean rolled his hips forward. It wasn't nearly enough contact – Castiel swore his cock must have throbbed with desire like this before – but feeling the outline of Dean's erection against his thigh was something that Castiel couldn't ignore. He loved Dean's mouth kissing and biting at his chest, but he needed more. He needed more before his body combusted.

It seemed as though he and Dean were sharing a wavelength because after a few more seconds, Dean sat up, sitting back against Castiel's thighs, hands continuing their exploration of his friend's torso.

Castiel opened his eyes, looking up at the disheveled boy in his lap. He wasn't exactly sure what he could ask for, what he could take, but he reached forward anyway, settling his hand on Dean's hip. Sitting down, Dean's cotton shirt was long enough to pool at his hips, covering him from Castiel's prying eyes.

He wasn't sure if he was allowed to, but Dean had just assaulted his chest. Looking down, Castiel could see it was shiny with saliva, nips and bruises already dotting his flesh. For a second, his fingers gripped the material at Dean's shirt, trying to decide what to do. Eventually, his hands took over for his mind.

Of their own accord, his fingers found the hem of the shirt on Dean's thigh. After moving the cotton away, his hands trailed up, lifting the material as he pressed his cool hands against Dean's warm skin.

It must have been something he was now allowed to do, touching Dean's flesh like that, because the taller boy smiled and lifted his arms. Castiel sat up easily – very aware that Dean was watching his stomach muscles as he moved – and he continued to push the shirt up Dean's torso before he finally tugged it, pulling it off over Dean's head and dropping it to the side with the rest of their abandoned clothes.

Castiel moved to lie back down – he wanted to see the expanse of Dean's chest, wanted to see what he had been missing in his month of quiet pining, what he was no allowed to have – but Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel's shoulders and pulled him in.

Castiel's arms moved around Dean's waist, unsure why Dean wanted to hug when there were so many more things they could do with their mouths, but the second their skin touched – bare chest to bare chest – he understood. All of his nerves seemed to be firing at once at the contact, the smooth skin and skin, and he shuttered.

Dean, being on his knees and on Castiel's lap, was just slightly higher than Castiel, so when the dark haired boy leaned forward, he could rest his head against Dean's collarbone, breathing heavily into his chest. Dean hummed his agreement, fingers moving through Castiel's hair. It was comforting, relaxing, and while Castiel knew what he was getting into with Dean – that it wasn't going to be long-term – it was the first time he felt like he was mourning their potential. He wanted Dean's soft skin and his kisses; he wanted to be able to hold Dean and feel himself being held, safe, forever.

But that wasn't an option, and Castiel was happy to take what he could get.

His hands moved – no longer wrapped around the boy's waist, keeping him there and the two of them pressed together – to push up his friend's back. He could feel his ribs, his spine, the muscles over the bone. He wasn't sure what made him decide to do it, but he pushed his fingernails against Dean's flesh and dragged them down. Not hard, certainly not hard enough to break the skin, but enough for the boy to feel it.

Dean shuttered, and when Castiel reached the small of his back and switched to the pads of his fingers once more, he could feel the goose bumps erupt over his friend's skin. He heard the soft breath against his ear, the _"Christ, Cas,"_ and Castiel made it his goal to get Dean to keep making those sounds.

Goal or no goal, his hands moved themselves a little lower until he felt the way his back moved into the swell of his ass. His fingers paused, not quite touching the muscles, not quite feeling like he was allowed to touch Dean there. Not yet.

But God, did Castiel want to run his hands over every inch of Dean.

Instead, Castiel let his hands trail back to Dean's sides, pulling himself away so his fingers would have room to touch Dean's stomach. The taller boy released his fingers from Castiel's hair, let the shorter boy lie back on the couch again. When Castiel was settled, Dean smiled at him.

Dean was so attractive, Castiel couldn't help but think. He was especially so when he smiled.

"Didn't think you'd be so tan," Dean admitted, his large hand resting over Castiel's hip, his thumb rubbing against the bone. "You run without your shirt off, Cas?"

At least that, Castiel had a response to. "I didn't think you'd be so pale," he said, looking over his friend's torso. His shoulders were dotted with freckles – a handful even made their way to his chest – and Castiel smiled. He reached his hand up to brush against his friend's nipple, going on Dean's lead. He would have never thought to do it if Dean hadn't just spent long minutes licking and nipping, but he was rewarded for his bravery instantly. His thumb pressed gently against Dean's nipple, and the taller boy arched his back, moving his hips forward.

For the first time, Castiel felt Dean's erection against his own, and even though the fabric, it was enough for Castiel to close his eyes, reveling in the pleasure. Dean made a small, wounded sound, and by the time Castiel forced his eyes open again, Dean was adjusting his position over Castiel.

He shifted forward; Dean's weight was on his knees and his legs, but he was higher up, over Castiel's lap instead of his thigh. He pressed his hands down against the couch just above Castiel's shoulders, and the dark haired boy raised his hands, resting them briefly against Dean's forearms before trailing them up and down over the flesh. Dean's back was arched, his shoulders out, and when he leaned down, capturing Castiel's lips with his own, the shorter boy felt his friend grind against him.

It was different with this angle, and Castiel was glad Dean was kissing him or he might have cried out. Without thinking, Castiel spread his legs, digging his heels into the couch and trying to push up into his friend's long, slow thrusts.

Castiel wasn't sure how long they rocked together like that; he was lost in the simplicity, the easiness of their touches. It was overwhelming, the jolts of pleasure that he felt every time Dean moved against him, but more so than that, the soft, loving kisses that Dean was all too happy to give him made his heart clench in his chest.

They were lazy, slow kisses. Some were open mouthed – drags of tongue against tongue – but others were chaste, placed on Castiel's cheek or nose or lips before Dean would press their forehead together, breathing heavily and sharing their air. Castiel's fingers gripped Dean's arm after a rougher thrust; a soft, desperate noise would leave his mouth before it, too, would smooth over into the gentle press of pleasure again.

It wasn't enough to get either of them off – even being a desperate, overwhelmed virgin, Castiel knew that – but it was so easy, so enjoyable, he had a hard time asking Dean for anything more.

Until the friction of their cotton underwear turned unpleasant; then, neither boy could cling to the simple rocking anymore. Dean stilled his thrusting with his back bowed – their cocks still pressed against one another – and Castiel had to fight the urge to grind back up against Dean. The taller boy gave him one long, sloppy kiss, and Castiel felt Dean's arms trembling.

When Dean moved back, he lowered himself to his elbows. It stopped the shaking and brought them chest to chest again. Castiel drew his hands up Dean's shoulders before rubbing over his friend's back.

"What do you want to do?" Dean asked again, resting his head against Castiel's collarbone, lying flat against his friend. His breath came out in warm puffs, and Castiel took the moment to wrap his arms around Dean and hold him to his chest.

He could fall asleep like this; Castiel wanted to fall asleep with Dean against him forever.

"Whatever you want," Castiel eventually breathed. And when Dean chuckled, Castiel felt it vibrate through his entire body.

"You have no idea how to ask for what you want, do you?" Dean asked, but Castiel could feel his friend's lips against his skin. He could feel the soft smile. He tried to shrug, but the effect was ruined with Dean on top of him. The taller boy reached up, dragging his fingers through Castiel's hair before he asked. "We could jack each other off, if you want that. Or we could use our hands around both our cocks and get off as we rut against each other some more."

Castiel's breath was caught in his throat; he couldn't thrust against Dean very effectively, but his body still tried in vain. He groaned, "Dean," but that didn't stop the boy. Instead, it seemed to motivate him. The shorter boy felt his friend's lips against his neck, soft and warm until he felt a jolt of pain. Dean smoothed over the bite with his tongue and another kiss.

"Or I could suck you off. Would you like that, Cas? I bet you've imagined that one, huh? Maybe while you were in the shower, your own hand on your cock, but you're thinking of me on my knees before you. Pushing your hips down against the wall, I'll take the whole thing in my throat. I'm not that good at it yet, but I can try for you. Would you like that, Cas? You wanna fuck my throat until you can't hold back any longer? Wanna make me choke on it?"

"Please, Dean," Castiel groaned, digging his fingernails into Dean's back. "I don't want… I don't…"

"No?" Dean asked, smile still on his face when he bit again. Castiel was writhing, desperate to get a hand on his cock and just get it over with so he could think straight. "You wanna have sex? I've got stuff in my bag, you know. We could, if you want. You wanted me to be your first, didn't you say that? We could, Cas. If you wanted. We could so do that. I'd really enjoy that, if that's what you wanted."

"Stop," Castiel whined, releasing his arms from around Dean's back. He tried to get his hands between their naked torsos, tried to push Dean off of him, push him away. Their chests were already sweaty – their flesh stuck together – but Dean pulled back instantly at the word. He sat up like Castiel managed to burn him, moving to the far end of the couch so they were no longer touching.

Castiel drew himself up so he was sitting at the other end, putting one of his hands on the back of the couch to steady himself, the other pushing past the elastic band of his boxers to squeeze at the base. His hand gave him no relief, not denying his release like that, but he needed to breathe. He needed to get his head straight.

When his head finally stopped swimming, he raised his eyes and looked at his friend. Dean's knees were drawn up to his chest, hiding most of his torso from Castiel's gaze. He was looking down at the floor, but when he felt Castiel's eyes on him, he looked up.

The frown on his face was small, fragile, and a little afraid.

"You're mouth is… I just… I needed to breathe or I was going to…"

"I'm sorry," Dean begged. "I… I didn't mean to make it weird, I didn't want… I just wanted you to know that I was open to anything. Anything you wanted. I just… I got ahead of myself. I didn't mean to freak you out. I'm sorry."

"You're overwhelming," Castiel admitted, removing his hand from himself to move down the couch toward Dean. The taller boy looked away again, but when Castiel touched Dean's bare knee, he didn't pull away. Instead, Castiel cupped Dean's face in his hands, moving so his friend was looking at him. "You don't really let other boys choke you, do you? That was just… or were you just saying that?"

Dean flushed and looking away with his eyes, but not moving his face from Castiel's fingers. Eventually he mumbled, "Not _all_ of them, but some of them do."

"Don't let them," Castiel said. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want them to hurt you. And… earlier, you said you wanted to make sure I was protected, that I was brave. Dean, please don't let them hurt you anymore."

"I… I don't _hate_ it, you know," Dean said, looking back up at Castiel. The shorter boy knew he was looking for something: the honesty, maybe, or maybe the value Castiel saw in him. Eventually he swallowed and nodded. "Okay. I'll… I'll be more careful."

"You like being choked?" Castiel asked, tilting his head to the side. Dean shrugged.

"I mean… sometimes. Sometimes it's kind of scary if you don't trust the guy, but I trust you. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose. I just meant, if that was something you were into, I would do that for you," Dean said, raising his hand to take hold of Castiel's arm. "I still will. I still want to, you know, _do stuff_ with you, Cas. If you still want to."

They sat there for a long moment, just touching. Castiel was ashamed of himself – his erection didn't waver, and he knew it should have – and he still did want to. Part of him wanted to hold Dean in his arms all night, but another part begged for more, cautioned that this would be their one night together and if they didn't act now, they would never get a second chance.

"Are you still…" Castiel dropped his hands from Dean's face. Instead they fell to his knees, pulling to get them away from his chest, trying to look down to see if Dean's erection, like his, had survived. He wouldn't ask Dean to do anything if he didn't want to, but if they both still had a desire, that was another matter. "… you know… interested?"

Dean laughed, spreading his legs out on either side of Castiel's hips. Castiel could see the line of his erection in his tight briefs, but as if that wasn't enough, Dean took Castiel's hand in his and placed it over his lap. It was somehow different, feeling the cock against his hand, and he pulled away, a surprised look on his face, and Dean laughed again. "I'm definitely still interested," his eyes looked down Castiel's body, but he didn't reach out to touch him. "Are you?"

"Yes," Castiel admitted, trailing his eyes back up Dean's torso to look at his face again as he licked his lips, a nervous tick brought on by what he was about to ask. "Could you… you know, with your mouth without choking on it?"

"Not all the way," Dean grinned. "But I could get you off that way without choking, no problem. That's what you want?"

"Could we try it?" Castiel asked, and Dean nodded, already moving to adjust their positions, but Castiel reached a hand out, holding his friend's shoulder still. "But if I don't like it or you can't breathe or anything, we can stop, right?"

"Of course, Cas," Dean said, offering a kinder smile, reaching out his hand to touch Castiel's cheek. His thumb pressed against Castiel's lip, and Castiel kissed it. Dean continued to smile. "Whatever you want to do, Cas. I want to make it as special and enjoyable for you as I can."

"You already are," Castiel admitted, finally taking Dean's lead and lying on his back again. Even knowing he would need to move to get the material off, he settled between Castiel's open legs. When the boy raised his hands to the elastic band of Castiel's boxers, the shorter boy's hand shot forward and stalled him again. "How does it feel? Do you like it when someone does it to you?"

"Yeah," Dean said, running his fingers low over Castiel's stomach. "Yeah, Cas, it's a pretty awesome feeling if they're good at it."

"If… After you try on me… I might not be good at it, but can I try to do it to you?"

The smile on Dean's face was beautiful, and Castiel felt his heart thumping in his chest at the sight of it. "Yeah, Cas," Dean said again. "If you want to do it, then you can. I'm not going to stop you."

"Will you show me how?" he asked. "So I can make it good for you, too?"

Dean just grinned and repeated Castiel's words back to him. "You already are."

At that, Castiel nodded. Eventually though, Dean's happy smile and the soft pressure on his hips was enough to chase some of his unease away. He felt the corners of his mouth twitching up despite himself, and when Dean saw it, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Castiel's underwear and asked, "Are you ready?"

The shorter boy took a small breath in, licked his lips, and nodded. Dean was slow tugging at Castiel's boxers. The dark haired boy lifted his hips to help the stripping along, but Dean wasn't in a hurry. With Castiel's back arched and his hips off the couch, Dean adjusted his grip. Instead, he spread his hands flat, palms moving from Castiel's stomach to his back, fingers slipping under the elastic once more. Castiel could feel his chest rising and falling with his deep, forced breath, and it didn't help that Dean's face never left his, always watching for a reaction, making sure everything he did was wanted, ready to stop if Castiel displayed discomfort.

Dean pushed his hands lower over Castiel's ass, drawing the boxers down as he went. By the time the elastic had come to rest against Castiel's thigh, exposing the muscle to the cool air of the church, Castiel felt Dean's hands flex slightly. The shorter boy flushed, but Dean just grinned, leaning forward pressing a kiss against Castiel's lips.

"Will you let me see it before this is all over?" Dean asked, squeezing again, apparently just in case Castiel didn't know what he was talking about.

"Uh… I suppose," Castiel said, looking down at his body. The elastic at the front was caught on his cock, unexposed, and he saw the red at his chest that proved he was blushing as bad as he thought he was. "Could I see yours?"

Dean just laughed. "You only want to look at my ass? I'm mildly offended right now. Here I was thinking you had a secret desire to bend me over and fuck me stupid." He only laughed harder at the shade of red Castiel turned before he moved his hands back to the front, resting against Castiel's hip and guiding him to rest back against the couch again.

The texture of the couch felt strange against Castiel's skin in a way it hadn't felt against his bare back. Dean's hands were rubbing over his hips, sliding down over the material to rub at Castiel's thighs. The taller boy was distracted, so thankfully, he didn't see Castiel's first, aborted attempt at talking. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Does that mean you have a secret desire to bend me over and…" Castiel's voice trailed off, and Dean looked up at his face, again.

"And fuck you? Christ, Cas, I'd love to fuck you. Never thought that was a secret."

"D-Do you want to?" Castiel practically squeaked. "You, um, you could if you wanted to."

"Uh," Dean started, but then let his hand move from Castiel's thigh to his lap. Feeling Dean's hand wrap around his cock, even with the thin material of his boxers between their skin made him twitch. When Dean's hand moved, Castiel closed his eyes, bowing his back to get his hips closer to Dean's hand. "Uh, let's… let's play it by ear. We'll decide that later if we even get that far. Gotta get these off of you first. Thought you wanted my mouth."

"Yes," Castiel said, eyes shooting open. He nodded and Dean smiled. "Your mouth, please."

"I can do that," Dean said, fingers leaving his cock to take the elastic in his hand once again. Castiel inhaled, and for a moment, Dean watched his face. When Castiel nodded again, the other boy's attention dropped to Castiel's lap, watching as he pulled his boxers down. His cock caught on it, and inch-by-inch, Dean dragged the material down until finally Castiel's cock was released. Castiel watched as it sprang forward, settling against his lower abdominal muscles, under his naval.

Dean removed himself from between Castiel's legs far more easily this time, and as he pulled the material down Castiel's legs and abandoned them on the floor, the dark haired boy rested his head against the arm rest, closing his eyes, and wrapping his fingers around himself. He couldn't help the contented sigh. He moved, but his hand was dry and the friction would turn to pain soon. He was about to lick his hand, but Dean put his hands on Castiel's thighs, spreading them, settling himself between them once more.

When Castiel opened his eyes, Dean lowered his hand to Castiel's wrist, stilling his small movements. "Not that watching you jack off isn't really hot, and I will definitely file that away to use as a mental image for later," Dean said, eyes locking with his friend's for a moment before licking his lips and looking down at Castiel's cock. "But, let me help."

Castiel wasn't sure which was more overwhelming, but he sure it was all of the stimuli put together that had him groaning. He saw Dean's lips, wet and warm, close over his head, his tongue swiping around as if he was trying to get the whole thing wet. He sunk lower, until mouth reached Castiel's thumb and pointer finger. Dean's eyes flicked up to Castiel's, and the dark haired boy tilted his head back, closing his eyes, toes curling.

Dean pulled back, pulling Castiel's wrist, but his hand didn't follow, didn't trail through the saliva. He couldn't risk losing Dean's mouth. Almost in a panic, his hand left his own cock to tangle in Dean's hair. He didn't push his head back down – his hips twitched to thrust up into the heat, but he didn't want to choke him and barely managed to keep his hips down on the couch – but he managed to still Dean's head before he got too far away.

The taller boy just laughed and said, "Don't worry, Cas. I'm not going anywhere." When Dean's hand joined with his mouth, moving up and down over Castiel's erection slowly, Castiel's grip let up.

He wasn't aware he was stroking Dean's hair, petting him, until after the first minute or two had passed, but Dean didn't seem to mind. The boy was moving really slowly and a predictable pace, and Castiel was grateful. He didn't want it to end, certainly not just after they just started. Unfortunately, his mind and his body had two very different priorities. And eventually, Dean grew bored with predictability. Castiel wasn't sure how other people faired at pleasing their partners, but Dean could do thing with his tongue that Castiel didn't have the words to describe. He wasn't sure what was happening because one second, his tongue would be running along the underside of his cock like an extension of his bottom lip, but then it would swirl around the head.

Sometimes, Dean's mouth wouldn't bob at all; instead, it would just cover the head while his hand did the stroking. Sometimes he would lick a stripe up or move his mouth off his cock altogether to bite and suck marks onto Castiel's hips, stomach, or thighs. When he returned his mouth to Castiel's erection, the boy couldn't help but make increasingly loud noises. They were loud in the silence – louder than the wet sounds Dean was making with his mouth and hand – but Castiel wasn't able to silence them.

He had no idea how long Dean had been pleasuring him, but despite the slow pulls, the variety was making it harder to ignore the build of his orgasm. There was a tension throughout his whole body – it made him want to scream – and he drew the hand not resting on Dean's head to his mouth, biting at the skin on the back of the wrist to keep quiet.

It was almost impossible to keep from thrusting up into that heat. He was suddenly so desperate to come he wanted to cry.

When he felt his cock leave Dean's warm mouth, a strangled sound did make it past the barrier or his skin between his teeth. The warm saliva cooled quickly with the bite in the air, and Castiel's hand left Dean's hair to try and wrap around his cock again, to just finish himself off, but Dean caught his hand, lacing their fingers together against Castiel's hip before he reached.

Dean's hand moved easily up and down his shaft with the makeshift lubrication, but it was still too slow, still not enough.

"You holding back on me, Cas?" Dean murmured, lips pressing against Castiel's thigh.

Castiel whined, tightening his fingers' grip on Dean's hand. He released his bite on his hand. He didn't try to grab himself again; instead, it latched on to Dean's bicep, digging his fingernails into the muscle. "What do you mean?"

"I want to hear you," Dean said, voice low. "I mean, I like hearing you. I like knowing that I'm doing alright, that you're enjoying it."

Castiel snorted, and it sounded a little bitter, even to his own ears. "I'm sure you know that you are excellent. There's no way I will be able to please you like that."

"It's not really hard, Cas," Dean said, but his eyes locked onto Castiel's and he smirked. "Well, actually it's really hard and that's why it isn't very difficult."

Castiel chuckled at Dean's joke, taking his hand off Dean's bicep to run through his hair. He was sure it would stick up from the sweat, but he couldn't see it. The way Dean smiled at him made him guess it did stay messy. He tried to smooth it down but Dean was still grinning. Eventually, he just gave up, lowering his hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat thump against his ribcage.

Dean's hand kept up his slow pulls, but he didn't return his mouth to the equation. Castiel was able to come back from the edge, and when he did, Dean sat up more, untangling their hands so he could adjust himself in his briefs, hissing at the contact.

"Can I try, now?" Castiel asked, and Dean looked up, hand finally stilling at the base of Castiel's cock.

"I… Cas, I'm not going to say no. You want me to finish you off first, though?" Dean asked, squeezing lightly at the base as if to make a point.

Castiel felt his skin grow warm despite the sweat he had already managed to work up. "I thought… you said you'd like to fuck me. We could do that, if you want."

For a long moment, Dean was silent. He was looking off the couch, toward his duffle bag, with his lips pursed to the side, chewing on the skin on the inside of his mouth. It was something he did while concentrating – usually while doing homework – and Castiel wasn't sure why he was putting so much thought into whether or not he wanted to have sex.

Sure, Castiel was nervous about it. He had masturbated before, but he'd always been too afraid to masturbate _that_ way. He didn't know the give of his body; he had no idea how badly it would hurt. But he trusted Dean. He knew Dean wouldn't hurt him – he would be gentle, he would be kind – and he wanted his first time to be with Dean.

It would be a memory he could keep, long after Dean was gone. Not necessarily one he would tell his grandchildren, but something he would cherish privately, anyway.

That Dean Winchester, the beautiful boy with freckles and full lips who was afraid of nothing, had been his first.

Eventually, Dean turned back to Castiel. His expression was soft, his bottom lip between his teeth. Castiel was sure of the timid gesture – Dean was going to politely, respectfully decline – and he was about to beg for it when Dean opened his mouth, running a hand through his hair and dropping his gaze to Castiel's stomach to avoid eye contact.

"Or… if you wanted to, you could fuck me instead."

"What?" Castiel asked, his cock twitching in Dean's hand.

"I've never… I've never done that before with another person – another guy, I guess – but I've messed around with myself a couple of times. I know I like it. And virginity and firsts are kind of a stupid social thing, anyway, but then it would be something new for both of us," Dean said, his eyes flickering to Castiel's face for a moment. Dean was red, and he looked away almost instantly. "Or… we don't have to if you don't want. It was just a suggestion."

Castiel knew this wouldn't last – it couldn't last – and that was why he so desperately wanted Dean. He knew Dean was willing, but he hadn't realized that Dean wanted Castiel, wanted some claim to remember him by. And maybe Dean wouldn't think of it every time some other guy entered him. They would have long lives after each other and that wouldn't be realistic. But maybe, every so often, Dean would think back and remember that first boy.

Hopefully, Dean would remember him fondly.

"What if I'm bad at it?" Castiel whispered. "What if I hurt you?"

"Well," Dean said, a small smile coming out, beating back his embarrassment. "You won't hurt me. I can get myself all nice and stretched and as long as you stop if I ask you to, we'll be fine on that front. There's not much I can do to help you if you suck at it except get you on your back and ride you from the top…"

"Dean," Castiel frowned, but Dean laughed, suddenly giddy at the prospect of it, the very idea that Castiel would consider entering him, and his enthusiasm was contagious. Castiel found himself grinning despite his fears. "That isn't reassuring."

"You probably won't be terrible," Dean said, smoothing a hand down Castiel's stomach.

"What if I… what if it's over too fast?" Castiel whispered, but Dean just patted Castiel's side.

"Dude, you're sixteen not sixty. If it's over too fast we'll wait an hour and try again," Dean said, and when he looked up at his friend, Dean was smiling. "So what do you say? Wanna give it a go?"

Castiel reached up, cupping his hands around Dean's face again. He sat up, his legs over Dean's thighs, and pressed a kiss against Dean's lips before he murmured, "Yes, Dean."

"Yes?" Dean asked, breathless. His smile was huge, and when he pulled back, Castiel couldn't help but mimic the sight. For a moment, they sat on the couch, kissing lazily. Before long, Castiel was removing himself from Dean and the taller boy was standing up, the outline of his cock pressing against the cotton fabric. Castiel wanted nothing more than to pull the garment off of him, but Dean stepped away, walking toward their bags.

He knelt down next to his backpack, unzipping before dropping one hand to the floor to dig around in it for a moment. He pulled one of the towels out that they used to dry themselves from the rain earlier, setting it on the floor before turning his attention to his duffle bag. He opened up the main compartment, pushing things aside to get to the bottom. Castiel couldn't see what was in there, but they made strange, heavy sounds, like metal against metal and sand in a tub.

The dark haired boy put his hand on his cock, leaning back against the couch. He was much more interested in the curve of Dean's spine, the way his back was arched and the tightness of the material left little for the imagination in terms of his muscles, but hid everything Castiel wanted to see. He wanted to know if the freckles that dotted his shoulder and back continued on past his waistband. He wanted to know what his cock would feel like in his mouth; he wanted to know the sounds Dean made as Castiel moved inside him.

It wasn't until Dean's hips started rocking that he realized what his friend was doing. When he made an annoyed sound, Dean looked over his shoulder and grinned at Castiel. "Think you might want me like this?" He asked. "On my hands and knees, rocking back to meet your thrusts?"

Castiel's hand left his cock, gripping onto his thigh instead. "Why do you have to tease me?"

"It's flattering," Dean said, turning back to his bag to zip it up. He grabbed the towel and stood, tossing the stuff at Castiel. "I know I can rile you up. You know how long I've been dropping subtle hints to see if you'd respond? I like overt flirting better."

"Well, you've already got me naked, so I don't know what you're still flirting for," Castiel said, untangling the towel and picking up a condom. He looked up at Dean. "And you never left subtle hints."

"I invited you back to hang out with my little brother, Cas. I don't do that for just anyone," Dean shrugged, but his face reddened as if he had admitted to too much. He shifted on his feet, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder toward the door with his hand wrapped around a bottle of lubricant. "You want me to do this in private or you want to watch?"

Castiel gave Dean's body a long look, then frowned. "Can I help?"

Dean just smirked, "You want to put your fingers up my ass?"

"If you'd let me. You might need to show me how," Castiel asked, trying not to sound so unsure of himself. Maybe that was something that should have been done in private, but Dean gave him a look, then smiled. He tossed the bottle at Castiel, too, which he caught without fumbling.

Dean crossed the room quickly, leaning over to kiss Castiel. For a long moment they just kissed, but finally, Dean gripped his friend's arm and tugged. Castiel got the message; he put the towel, condom, and bottle on the couch next to him and stood. They resumed kissing for another minute before Dean pulled back and grinned.

His hands were on his own hips and when Castiel looked down, his thumbs slipped into the elastic band of his briefs. He wiggled his fingers and shifted his weight again as if he needed to do anything else to get Castiel to look at his crotch. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Mine's been in your mouth. I'm quite sure you saw it before it got there," Castiel said, holding his arms out to prevent any obstruction in Dean's vision but the taller boy just laughed.

"No, Cas, I meant your ass. I want to see if it's all muscle like the rest of you," Dean said. Despite his embarrassment, Castiel turned away from Dean. It was a one-eighty, not a three-sixty, but if he was going to have all that time with Dean, he could at least spare a minute or two to bare himself.

"Damn," Dean said under his breath, and maybe what Dean had said earlier had been right. It was flattering, hearing the way the expletive fell from the boy's lips. Castiel rarely thought about his body image, but it certainly was a stroke to his ego.

And maybe he had spent too much time with Dean, but Castiel was right by the couch anyway. He put his knees on the cushions, bracing his arms against the back. He turned his head – looking over his shoulder at Dean – but when he saw the boy's bottom lip was between his teeth again, he arched his back, just like Dean had done just a few moments before.

Dean looked up, meeting Castiel's gaze. The dark haired boy nodded and Dean reached forward, trailing his hand down Castiel's spine, over the small of his back, until it cut to the side and came to rest against Castiel's hip. For a moment, Dean ran his hands over the muscles of his back, his thighs, and his ass, as if he were trying to commit every detail to memory.

He was quiet, and Castiel turned to face the couch, putting his forehead against the cushion, content to feel Dean's hands on him. His breathing was getting heavier – he couldn't even hear Dean's breath over his own – and but then he felt the cotton of Dean's briefs against his skin, felt the hard outline of his cock press against his cheeks, and his breathing turned ragged. He twitched away at first, but when Dean didn't push back against him, he rocked his hips back, experimenting.

He didn't know how a simple press turned into grinding, but Castiel was reaching for his cock again, ready to tell Dean to just get him off like this, when the taller boy pulled back, removing himself from the shorter boy. By the time Castiel turned around to demand an answer, Dean was tugging down his own underwear with no preamble, standing in the cool air of the Sunday school room like nudity wasn't something to be ashamed of.

"Sorry, Cas, but if we don't get this moving along, I'm gonna die," he said, licking his lips and grabbing the towel. Castiel removed himself from the couch, watching as Dean put the condom on the stand next to them before picking up the lubricant and lying down so his hips were over the towel. He spread his legs, and Castiel might never have been more compelled to sit down before in his life.

He was on his knees between Dean's thighs, admiring the freckles that marked his skin when he felt Dean's weight shift. When he looked back up, Dean uncapped the top and held it up. Castiel held his hand out. Before Den poured any of it on him, he examined his fingernails.

"Step one, nails have to be short and no freaking hangnails. If you ever let a person push into you, check them first, okay? It'll fucking hurt if you don't. Yours are good, though," Dean said, then tipped the bottom over, squeezing out more lubricant than Castiel thought necessary before continuing. "Step two is that too much is always better than not enough."

"How did you learn all this?" Castiel asked, using his left hand to spread the lube across his fingers. "If you haven't done this before, who taught you?"

"Last year we were staying closer to a city. Sam was staying after school to get some help with something so I took a bus to one of their libraries cause I heard they had the internet in them," Dean shrugged. "I mean, there was a lot of dumb shit on there, but between that and self-experimentation, you tend to learn the basics."

"You said you like it?" Castiel asked, spreading his fingers before looking back down at his friend.

"Oh, fuck yeah, Cas. It might even be better than being the one fucking into someone. Maybe I was a bit selfish to ask to do it this way, but if you want to try it the other way later – like maybe tomorrow morning before we leave or something – I can do it for you," Dean asked, an open look on his face.

Castiel nodded. Tomorrow would be Saturday, and some people would eventually come in to get ready for the Sunday service. They would have to see when they managed to wake themselves up, but Dean's smile was soft and genuine, and Castiel wanted to try it.

He wanted to try everything with Dean.

"Alright," Castiel said. "What's step three?"

"Step three is don't just push in right away," Dean said, he took a deep breath in, then locked his fingers around Castiel's wrist. The dark haired boy had no idea who looked more nervous; Dean's eyes were wide, but trusting, whereas Castiel could feel his heart beating far too rapidly to be sustainable over a long period of time. Castiel felt his fingers brush against Dean's balls – the taller boy hissed at the contact – but he continued to guide Castiel down, the lubricant marking his path over his perineum. Dean's bowed his back, tucking his tailbone, and pushing Castiel's hand so it was resting over his hole.

Castiel took in a sharp breath, but even though he hadn't really done anything to please Dean, the boy below him bit his lip and writhed. His grip on Castiel's wrist was like a vice, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to move his hand away even if he wanted to.

Not that he wanted to.

"Just…" Dean started, trying to force his eyes open. They were hardly more than slits; his irises and pupils were barely visible under his eyelids. He licked his lips and nodded, but Castiel wasn't sure what he was asking him to do.

His only direction thus far – don't push in right away – was pretty self explanatory though. So Castiel didn't push in, he didn't try to breach the muscle and instead, just moved his finger against it, spreading the lubricant around and applying a small amount of pressure with the pad of his pointer finger. "Is… Is this…?"

"Oh, Christ, Cas. _Yes,_" Dean groaned, trying to spread his legs further and draw his knees up a bit. He squirmed momentarily, trying to expose as much of himself to Castiel as he could, but eventually settled. Castiel couldn't help but sit back on his heels, looking down at his friend. Even without watching his finger disappear into Dean's body, which he sure would be overwhelming, there was something powerful and beautiful about the boy laid bare under him.

Dean had no fear.

As Castiel rubbed his finger against Dean's entrance – waiting for further instruction or some sort of obvious sign that it was time to move along in the process – the boy responded openly. He didn't hold back. The sounds were soft, but not controlled. The red, angry marks below his lips weren't from faking the harsh bites. At least, Castiel was pretty sure of that, especially the way Dean moved his hips, trying to meet Castiel's small, soft movements and create more friction.

For a long moment, Castiel didn't do anything but tease and watch, but as his eyes moved up Dean's body, something else caught his eye. He remembered how amazing it felt when Dean took his cock in his mouth, and while Castiel was sure he would be sloppy and untalented, he still wanted to try.

And Dean's cock was just resting there, ignored by both of them for so long.

When Castiel trailed his left hand up Dean's thigh, the boy opened his eyes again, trying to look down to see what his friend was doing. His face was pink, his lips red and raw already from kissing and biting. If anything, Dean looked even more attractive this way, and something fierce and protective surged in Castiel. He wanted to be the only one to see Dean like this. He wanted to watch Dean come undone with soft little pets over and over again.

Castiel's hand moved to the base of Dean's cock, adjusting so it was no longer resting against the boy's lower stomach. For a split second, his eyes met Dean's, but then he licked his lips and timidly closed his mouth over the head.

"Fucking _God, _Cas, push it in. I mean it. _Push it in_."

Castiel slid his finger over the muscle one more time before he changed the angle of his hand just slightly, letting just the tip of his finger breach his friend's body. A low, primal sound came from Dean's chest, and Castiel took the hint and pressed forward. He was met with some resistance, but not much. Dean's body relaxed to the intrusion and allowed Castiel's finger entry as far as it would go, right up to where the finger met the hand.

He didn't pull out right away, didn't start trying to move his finger in and out of Dean's body. Instead, he drew his hand up to meet his mouth, slicking his hand with saliva and dragging it down the shaft. He felt his friend squeeze against the digit, but he relaxed after another moment, finally letting out the breath that Castiel didn't know he had been holding.

"I…" Dean started, his voice faltering. He cleared his throat and started again. "I'm supposed to be teaching you, I thought."

Castiel moved his head back, letting Dean's cock slip free with a satisfying noise that made Dean groan. "Don't let me stop you," he grinned, enjoying the glare Dean tried to give him. "By all means, continue."

"Alright, well Step… what number are we on?"

"Four, Dean. Step four."

"Yes, well, Step four was supposed to be when your partner is relaxed enough to eventually ease your finger into them, but I see you managed that fine, so we'll move along to Step five…" Dean said. When he paused, Castiel lowered his mouth back to Dean's cock. He had little form and no experience, but bobbed his head and tried to mimic some of the things Dean had done to him with his tongue. He wasn't sure how effective he was – wasn't sure if he could get Dean off like this – but when one of the boy's hands fisted into his hair, he figured he was doing well enough.

"Fuck," Dean groaned. "Switch fingers. Not two, not yet. Not ready. Lube is… just go to the middle one."

Castiel did as Dean instructed, pulling out his pointer finger to switch to the middle. He pushed in, but his hand left Dean's cock to try to wrestle the bottle of lubricant from Dean's clenched fist. Eventually, he relented, and Castiel pulled his finger free again to reapply the lube. When he moved in again – and continued to move his finger in and out of Dean gently – the boy made a contented sound.

For a while, they continued on with one finger and Castiel's sloppy, unskilled mouth and hand. Still, Dean had no complaints until eventually he gripped Castiel's hair a little too tight and pulled up, pulling him away from his cock. When Castiel backed off, Dean's hand gripped the base and he whined.

"Step whatever… Cas, I need another finger, man. I'm going to come long before you stick it in me if you don't stop double teaming me," Dean all but begged.

Castiel nodded, settling back against his heels again. He pulled out and added more lube before pushing back in with two fingers. He could feel the difference, and he wondered if it would be uncomfortable for Dean. The squeeze was tighter, and while his fingers were accommodated, it already felt like too much in such a small place. He wasn't sure if anything else could fit.

Dean, however, seemed to have a plan.

"It doesn't hurt, Cas, I swear. Two isn't anything, it's three that's tricky sometimes. Just keep going."

So Castiel did.

If Castiel wasn't already so aroused, the sight of Dean under him would have worked. He was mesmerized by the way his fingers looked sinking into Dean, the way the muscles clung to the digits as he tried to pull them out. He experimented a little, to see what Dean's body could do. He pulled out to one side, spreading Dean's cheeks to see the give and stretch.

His own breathing wasn't steady, even though he wasn't doing much of anything or being pleasured, but it mixed nicely with the sharp intakes and quiet groans that Dean continued to release. After a while, Dean tried gaining some leverage, using his hands on the couch to try and rock himself back, trying to meet Castiel's thrusts. It seemed like both forever and no time when Dean was breathing, "Three, Cas. Give me three."

And Castiel obliged again.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed, his nose pinching and his lips pursed, and Castiel stilled his hand. He tried to pull back, pull it out, but Dean shook his head and reached out, gripping Castiel's bicep. He opened his mouth to say something, but ended up closing it again.

Castiel leaned forward, mindful of the angle and trying to not put any more pressure on Dean than he was already feeling. He held himself up by his free hand above Dean's shoulder and placed a kiss against Dean's lips. "We don't have to…"

"I'm fine," Dean said, opening his eyes. "Just give me a second."

But before Castiel could back off and let the tense moment pass while Dean relaxed and adjusted, his friend wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him there. Dean offered a small, reassuring smile before tilting his chin up, pulling Castiel down to his lips. They kissed for a long, lazy moment before Castiel felt Dean's hips trying to rock again, so he eased his fingers further in.

Even though it was just kissing, the anticipation building in Castiel was powerful. He was shaking with it, hips rocking forward, letting his cock drag against Dean's thigh as his fingers moved inside him. By the time Dean finally nipped Castiel's lip and pushed at his shoulders, breaking the kiss, Castiel was nearly vibrating with his desire, afraid that just pushing into Dean's body would set him off.

He hadn't thought he had said that out loud, but Dean chucked, reaching a hand down to smack Castiel's ass lightly. "Well I sure won't be far behind you there. C'mon, I want you inside me."

It took a couple of long seconds to untangle themselves from each other but by the time they were both standing next to the couch and Castiel had the condom in his hand, his heart was beating a little less from anticipation and a little more with fear.

There was still so much to be worried about. He could hurt Dean; he could be terrible at it and Dean would hate it. It could be over too quickly or his nerves would make it impossible to get off. He could really hurt Dean.

But as always, Dean didn't share his fears. He stood with confidence, even on his shaking, trembling legs, and took the packet from Castiel's hands. As Dean tore the package open and rolled the condom over his friend's erection, Castiel asked, "Any last pointers?"

Dean just grinned. "If you haven't noticed by now, I'm pretty vocal and blunt. I'll tell you what I want if you aren't already doing it." He grabbed the lubricant and poured a gratuitous amount over the latex. He spread it around, slicking Castiel up, before he reached down and grabbed the towel, wiping his hands. Holding out the towel, Dean offered a smile. "You realize you're about to fuck a hot piece of ass, right? You're offending me a little with your face right now. You look like I just killed your cat."

Castiel tried to force a different facial expression, but when that only made Dean laugh, he felt the tension melt away a bit. He took the towel, wiped his hands, and gave it back to Dean. The taller boy turned back to the couch, putting it in a different place than it was before.

"What if I hurt you?"

"Dude, your life must suck if you're constantly too busy worrying to actually live it. How do you even sleep at night?" Dean chucked, but it wasn't cruel. He put his foot on the armrest and his knee on the seat, his body positioned over the towel, his hands braced against the back of the couch. It wasn't until he arched his back and wiggled his hips that Castiel realized he was ready to go – ready, like, now – and he felt a blush rising over his face. "You're really going to stay stuck in your head when you could stick it in this?"

Castiel grinned, "Does that work for you a lot, that mouth of yours?"

"It's working on you right now, isn't it?" Dean grinned, turning his head to look over his shoulder. "Now are you coming or am I going to have to get myself off over here?"

"Not yet," Castiel said, stepping forward, sliding a hand down Dean's back before resting it at his hip. He was still nervous – maybe even more nervous with his friend spread out before him like that – but Dean didn't seem to be. And if Dean could be that trusting, that calm, then Castiel could do the same. "But I will be."

"And he jokes," Dean laughed. "Look at you… oh, fuck."

Castiel had hardly done more than line himself up and push, but the head of his cock slipped into Dean more easily than he thought he would have. The taller boy turned back around, facing the wall, and Castiel rested his forehead between Dean's shoulder blades, breathing heavily, trying to keep from thrusting into the heat.

Instead he waited, only moving when he felt the muscles around him relax and give him some room. It still didn't take long until Castiel drew back, standing up, with his pelvis pressing against Dean's ass.

"Oh, God," Dean groaned, forehead between his forearms, resting on the back of the couch. "Oh, my fucking God, Cas."

Castiel was inclined to agree. His head was swimming, and when he looked down to see himself buried in Dean he almost lost it. The stretch had to be painful – as Castiel moved his hips back, he saw the way the muscles tried to cling to him despite the lubrication – and he wasn't aware he was digging his fingernails into Dean's hips until his friend commented on it.

"Not that I don't like being marked, but if you don't retract your claws, you're going to draw blood," Dean moved his head like he was going to try to look behind him again, but the attempt was aborted when he could barely lift his head. The dark haired boy winced, replacing his nails with the pads of his fingers, trying to rub away the marks he'd left. He tried his hardest to stay still, to let Dean adjust, to think about the old lady at church who always gave a wet kiss to each of his cheeks before choir practice to beat his orgasm back so he wouldn't come before he had even started. Soon enough, Dean started nodding against the cushions and said, "Fuck me, Cas. 'M not gonna break."

Castiel almost dug his nails in again.

Instead, he moved his hands lower on Dean's ass, spreading his muscles and watching as he slowly pulled out and pushed back in. He watched for three agonizingly slow thrusts before he moved his hands back up Dean's back, closing his eyes. Although the sight was amazing – something Castiel would likely imagine over and over again in the years to come – it was doing nothing to help his goal of lasting longer than ten seconds, so he had to look away.

He had no idea how his body had the willpower not to grip Dean's shoulders and thrust into him, rough and deep, over and over again, when his head was begging him to do it. His body, however, remained gentle. Both his hands and his hips moved on predictable paths, desperate not to hurt the other boy.

But as promised, Dean was full of guidance.

It wasn't verbal, not at first. Instead, Dean pushed himself up on his arms, head hanging between his shoulder blades. He used the space to move back until he was meeting Castiel's every thrust. Compared to the silence before, everything seemed loud: their breathing, the soft moans, the wet sounds that Castiel thought should be embarrassing but he found erotic regardless.

Then, Dean reached behind him, searching blindly for some part of Castiel to cling to. His hand found his side, and he arched his back so he could trail his hand lower. Between Dean's thrusting against him and the pull of his hand, Castiel thought he got the idea of what Dean wanted and when he pushed back in, he moved a little harder.

Dean's hand dropped away, moving back to the couch to brace himself, a low groan accompanying his praise of, "Yeah, Cas. There you go. Harder. Not gonna break."

So Castiel picked up the pace.

Maybe Castiel had thought about it before – once or maybe twice – while he was taking a shower or while he was on his back in his bed or that really embarrassing time he had to leave gym class after Dean had hiked up his shirt to dry the sweat from his face and his shorts were resting low on his hips, but even in his wildest, self-indulgent dreams, it was never as good as this. Dean was a talker, confident and cocky, and Castiel had accounted for that. However, there was no real preparing for seeing Dean like this – his neck and shoulders pink, his back slicked with sweat – and the sounds…

Dean could switch on a dime: full of bravado, all _"You like that?"_ and _"Pound into me, Cas"_ one minute, then softer gasps of breath, groans, and whimpers. He could sing the scale, praising in one breath and demanding something different in the other. His enjoyment seemed glaringly opposite of his desires. (_"God, you're so _nice._" "Pull my hair, Cas."_) And he was confused by what Dean really wanted, what he could do to make this the best experience for Dean, until he realized it was all of it. Any of it.

Dean must realize they had little time left together, too. He was trying to fit every little desire into one time. They would likely have the morning, but who knew when they'd ever get another night alone together.

Who knew if they ever would?

And Castiel needed it, he needed it to be everything it could be for him – everything it could be for Dean – because this might be all they could ever share together. This could be the only time Dean would know how much Castiel cared for him.

Dean was begging for it rough and hard, but Castiel lowered his head, pressing soft, gentle kisses on Dean's spine. He moved his hands from Dean's hips, trailing them down the boy's thighs. The slew of words stopped from Dean's mouth, giving way to labored breathing.

Castiel's palms trailed up Dean's thighs and over his stomach. He pressed his chest down, chin resting high against Dean's shoulder blade. There was hardly a spot of Dean's back that wasn't touching Castiel's front – their sweat mixing together – as Castiel's hands trailed further up, wrapping over his friend's chest and holding him there.

He pressed a kiss behind Dean's ear and whispered, "You're an amazing man."

Dean's response was somewhere between a huff and a snort, but he adjusted his weight so his he was balancing on one of his forearms. His free hand found Castiel's over his chest and laced their fingers together.

It was that – that small gesture of something more – that pushed Castiel right to the edge. He wasn't thrusting hard or deep, but the build-up had been powerful, and he needed his release. With his hand that wasn't tangled together with Dean's, he trailed down, wrapping his fingers around Dean's cock. His friend made a desperate noise, and Castiel continued to move his hand, hoping Dean wasn't too far behind him.

"Dean," Castiel groaned. "Dean, if you could… I know you can't but if you could… Would you have any desire to stay here with me?"

Dean's whole body shifted. For a minute, Castiel feared Dean was trying to push him away. His hand tore from Castiel's, and the dark haired boy almost got Dean's elbow to his nose. Somehow, Dean managed to hook his arm around Castiel's neck, forcibly dragging him down. He thought Dean was trying to put him in a headlock, trying to make him take the question back, when he caught a glimpse at Dean's face.

He looked wild – possessed even – but there was something else too, something desperate, just like what Castiel felt deep in his chest. Dean's eyes met Castiel's and he growled, "Yes."

Castiel hadn't really realized that they hadn't kissed – hadn't really been able to comfortably – since they started having sex, but then Dean pulled him in, forcing him to stay there with the tight grip he had with his arm, and he wished he could have been kissing Dean the whole time. He never wanted to stop kissing Dean.

So he was frustrated when Dean let his arm go from the back of Castiel's neck just as suddenly as he had wrapped it there, until he felt his hand join his on Dean's cock. He angled himself down and cried out. It was loud, choked, and unintelligible, and Castiel wasn't exactly sure what was happening until he felt Dean clench around him.

He hadn't meant to bite down, but the flesh at Dean's shoulder was right there. He bit to keep from screaming, but the sound that was pulled from him as he came was feral, and he couldn't control it.

He didn't feel like he could move when it was over and his head started to clear, but he was also well aware he was trembling and he couldn't stay standing and inside of Dean all night either. He tried to push himself back up, squeezing Dean's side as a warning before he moved his hips back and slipped out of his friend.

Dean made a strange noise and made a move to stand, but he looked as unstable as Castiel felt.

When they were finally standing together – facing each other – side by side, Castiel looked down, fumbling with his lethargic fingers to pull the condom off without spilling the evidence of their coupling all over the floor. When he finally managed to get it off, he realized he had no idea what to do with it. If he threw it away in the garbage, someone would find it and while they wouldn't necessarily guess it was his – his and his best friend's, who happened to also be male – but the blasphemy of someone fornicating in the church would be so scandalous that the old ladies would probably faint.

He had no idea what to do, and when he looked up at his friend for guidance, a grin burst onto Dean's face.

Dean started laughing.

It was strange, and Castiel would have felt offended if the joy wasn't so evident on his friend's face. Dean looked alive, like the brave kids who ran through the Haunted Houses looked after they emerged. He looked carefree in a way Castiel had never seen him before, and when Dean threw one of his arms around Castiel's shoulder and the other one cupped his cheek and drew him in, kissing him so sweetly, Castiel felt lighter.

Castiel laughed too.

The taller boy took his friend's hand and led him to the bathroom. They flushed the evidence, and they washed themselves up, grins still on their faces.

And they didn't die away, not even when Dean led them back into the Sunday school room. Without ever breaking contact, Dean wadded up the towel and tossed it next to his bag. He unwrapped his sleeping bag, unzipping it to use as a blanket. It took some maneuvering for them both to finally lie down on the couch: Dean on his back, pressed up against the couch, with Castiel's head on his chest, clinging to him to keep from falling off.

Dean's hand found Castiel's hair, Castiel's arm was wrapped around Dean's stomach, and Dean's other hand was trailing up and down Castiel's arm.

It was a long time before either of them settled, and Castiel listened to the steady beating of Dean's heart, realizing for the first time that night that his was also at a normal resting pace. He smiled against his friend's bare chest.

Even though he knew they were just taking a moment, that they would get up, get dressed, and work on their paper, he let his eyes slide shut. Even with the light on overhead, Castiel could imagine that they were in darkness, like real lovers, falling asleep in each other's arms.

Castiel wished he could fall asleep in Dean's arms every night.

* * *

The clap of thunder overhead was loud enough to startle Castiel from his sleep. He flailed, rolling onto his back before he realized he didn't have space to move. He would have fallen off the narrow couch if the arm around his shoulders hadn't held him up. Another hand found his hip, rolling Castiel toward the warm body next to him.

He settled back down against Dean's chest, tentatively reaching his fingers out to brush against the other boy's abdominal muscles. They hadn't cleaned themselves as effectively as Castiel thought they had before their nap; Castiel could feel the evidence of their coupling dried to Dean's stomach, but he smiled into the boy's flesh, thinking about it.

It hadn't been a dream, and the way that Dean was running his fingers through Castiel's hair seemed to indicate that he didn't regret it, either.

Castiel's heart beat in his chest, but for once, it wasn't too quickly. For once, he wasn't afraid. He didn't care if the storm outside was unseasonably vicious, and he didn't care that they were completely naked, two teenage bodies pressed close to share the tiny couch and that if they were caught they would be… he just didn't care.

Because Dean Winchester was pressing soft kisses against his head, murmuring something that Castiel couldn't quite make out. But he felt it rumbling in Dean's chest, heard the way it vibrated to his cheek and Castiel couldn't help but smile.

"You're awake?" Castiel asked, and Dean groaned his response. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Dean shook his head, so Castiel drew his eyes up the wall, looking at the clock. The lights were still on in the room, and he had to squint to see that far away, but he saw that the time read just after midnight. Castiel sighed and settled back down into Dean's side.

The taller boy's hand moved down, resting against the bare skin at Castiel's shoulder. "What was your deduction, Sherlock?"

"Quarter past midnight," Castiel said, pressing his lips against Dean's neck. He shuttered, drawing his arm just a bit tighter around Castiel, and the dark haired boy smiled. He couldn't help it. This was something he was allowed to do now; he could brush his fingers over Dean's hip or through his hair or kiss his shoulder and – unless they were in public – Dean would reward his bravery with small moans, shuddered breaths, and Castiel couldn't get enough of it. "Why?"

Dean groaned, "We never did any work."

"We could get up and write a bit," Castiel said, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look back down at the body under him. Dean opened his eyes, and Castiel swore he was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. "Or we could just go back to sleep."

Another flash of lightning lit the room. The boom of thunder happened so quickly after it, the storm must have been right on top of them. Dean pulled Castiel toward him, pressing a kiss against his lips.

Just as Dean opened his mouth, deepening the kiss – Castiel had enough of a nap to go again, he was sure – the light in the room cut out. The plunge into darkness was instantaneous; Castiel couldn't even see Dean when he pulled back and his friend was right below him. It took some shifting in the dark, but eventually Castiel managed to sit up and Dean stood, feeling blindly for his bag. It took him a long moment – long enough for Castiel's heart rate to increase to the point where his fear started to override his annoyance at being interrupted – but eventually, Dean pulled out the flashlights and turned one on.

When Dean sat it down on the floor, the beam shot out toward the ceiling. It didn't really illuminate the room, so the shadows it created did nothing to help the fear threatening to overcome Castiel.

He focused instead on Dean.

His friend was naked – and that was certainly a distraction – but when he stood up and twisted the flashlight on, he shined it on the floor. He started picking up their clothes, tossing Castiel his before he put that flashlight down and started dressing himself.

As Dean pulled the briefs up, shielding his body from his friend's prying eyes, Castiel cursed the lightning.

"You know where the breaker is in this place? The storm probably took out the power somewhere else so the whole town's got a blackout, but it wouldn't hurt to try to reset, probably."

"In the basement, I think. Can't you get electrocuted from those things?" Castiel asked. His body was screaming not to leave the room, that he should wrap the sleeping bag around his shoulders and go back to sleep. Hell, it was dark. It was the perfect excuse to curl back around his friend and sleep until the sun came out and it didn't matter whether or not a storm knocked out the town's power. Instead, he started pulling on his clothes.

"I'm not dead yet," Dean grinned, fully dressed, including his shoes. Castiel hurried to catch up – it was better to follow Dean down into the basement than to sit alone and wonder – but Dean just grabbed the flashlight and took off out of the door.

Castiel thought about calling to him, but instead, he just tugged his shoes on, grabbed the other flashlight, and walked to the door.

Dean had already made it to the end of the hallway, but he hadn't left the corridor just yet. When Castiel shined his flashlight on him, Dean held up his hand, waving furiously before looking at his friend and putting his finger over his lips, signaling his friend to be quiet.

Even though he knew this was another part of Dean's stupid method writing games, his blood seemed to run cold with his fear. He dropped the beam of the flashlight to the floor, stepping foot-over-foot as quietly as he could to meet his friend.

He wanted to yell at him, tell him it wasn't funny, that there was nothing they could do about the power. They should go back to the room, wrap themselves up in each other and the sleeping bag. They should wait it out, together, until morning. Their paper could be done tomorrow.

And he didn't care that when they started writing tomorrow, it would be on Dean's motel bed with Sam three feet away, offering insights and helpful tips. He didn't care that in front of his friend's brother, he couldn't touch Dean when he wanted to, couldn't kiss him. He didn't care about tomorrow because they could have tonight.

All he wanted was the rest of the night to call Dean his.

When he reached his friend, he opened his mouth to say something – to yell or beg, he would never know – but Dean reached out suddenly, cupping his hands over Castiel's mouth, shaking his head. The dark haired boy almost growled his frustration, but his eyes found Dean's.

Those wide, green eyes had been so warm before in the Sunday school room. The look in them now was completely different. Dean was alert – far more alert than he should be for just waking up – and he looked scared.

That was when Castiel heard the voice.

He was likely at the bottom of the stairs. Castiel knew that the stairwell seemed to amplify the noises; they always had to shut the doors to the Sunday school room to keep the noises from coffee hour at bay. He didn't listen to what was being said – he couldn't focus on the words – because he could only panic at the sound of the voice.

Pulling away from Dean, Castiel put his back against the wall. He was breathing heavily – he was hyperventilating, nearly choking on his breaths – and when Dean put his hands on Castiel's shoulders, trying to silently guide him through it, Castiel's eyes found Dean's and he whispered as quietly as he could.

"It's my priest."

His vision was swimming, his fingers clenching against Dean's arms, desperate for something to cling to. They were going to be caught. They had snuck in, no _broken_ in to a church and that was bad enough. Castiel was a terrible liar, and his priest had always had a way with knowing the truth about Castiel.

Once, he and Anna had broken one of the Advent candles. They had been playing hide and seek in the sanctuary, and the sanctuary was always off-limits to the kids playing games. They knew that, but they also knew every one of each other's hiding spots. The sanctuary was the only level ground, the only way they could be equal, and when Castiel had ran past the altar, he had tripped on the cloth. The candles fell, one of them broke, and Anna had hid it behind the throne.

They left the room, and nobody would have been wiser.

But later that day, the priest talked to all the youth group kids about truth and confession, and Castiel hadn't said anything at all, but the priest's eyes rested on his for a moment.

Castiel had started crying, but the priest had already seen into his guilty sinful heart.

And breaking one advent candle seemed so much less severe than having sex in the Sunday school room. It seemed like nothing compared to breaking into a holy place, to taint it with the pleasures of the flesh, the pleasure of your male best friend's flesh, and Castiel knew that if his priest saw them, he would know what they had done without either of them telling.

"Cas, please," Dean's voice was barely there, a whisper in his ear, and Castiel hadn't remembered Dean hugging him, but their bodies were pressed together. Dean was nearly pinning Castiel against the wall, his arms wrapped tight around the small of his back. "You need to come back to me, Cas. I can't do this without help."

Castiel's fingers looked white in the pale glow of the flashlight, clenching at Dean's shirt. After a moment, he willed his fingers to ease up, and when he wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, his friend sighed, small and contented and relieved.

But before Castiel could appreciate Dean and their bodies pressed together again, the taller boy wrapped his fingers around Castiel's wrist and started pulling him back to the Sunday school room. The dark haired boy was somewhat amazed at how silently they could walk, even more so now.

When they got back into the room, Dean was careful as he shut the door, turning the handle and waiting to release it until the door was in the jamb. It was silent, and Castiel put his hands on the table, leaning over, trying to force his breathing to return to normal.

He half expected Dean to comfort him again, to rub his back and tell him that they would hide somewhere until the priest was gone, but even then Castiel knew it would be useless. He would be back here Sunday morning, and the other man would know. He would just know.

Oh, God, he would probably tell Castiel's parents. Would they disown him or just make him go to Jesus camp? Everyone in school would find out, and he already had a hard enough time fitting in. He didn't need the boys beating him up in the locker room, claiming he had been watching them.

The principal wouldn't care if they beat him up. Nobody would care.

"They're going to kill me," Castiel whispered.

"I'm not going to let that happen," Dean said, looking up from his duffle bag. For once, he wasn't trying to hide the contents from Castiel – he had just unzipped it there on the table – but Castiel wasn't interested. He couldn't be. "They'll have to kill me first."

"That's only going to make it worse," Castiel groaned, putting his head down on the table. Dean started moving. Castiel could hear that he had moved back to the door, and he thought it was kind of strange that his friend wasn't comforting him, considering the melt down. "Oh, God, Dean the kids in school are going to beat the crap out of me. They're going to beat me to death and they won't even get in trouble for it."

"What are you _talking _about?" Dean hissed, hurrying away from the door to move to the windows instead. Castiel heard something, Dean was pouring something, but he couldn't bring himself to raise his head.

"When they find out that I'm… that we… when they find out what we did, they will…"

"Omigod, you're having a gay scare right now? Fuck, Cas, nobody's going to care. They won't even find out if you don't tell them. We have bigger problems right now, like seriously _huge_ problems and I really need your help here."

It was the panic, the _fear_ in Dean's voice that got Castiel to look up. His usually confident friend looked shaken, and Castiel raised his flashlight beam to get a better look at him. He had something in his hands, and there was a trail of white powder lining the windows.

"What are you…"

"It's salt, Cas. Look…"

"Why did you pour salt all over the windows?"

"Oh, my God. Just listen for one second. Your priest isn't your priest. That dude is a demon, and we need to…"

Castiel scowled, taking a step toward Dean. For a minute, he was enraged. How could he? How could Dean stand there, pretend to be afraid, play into Castiel's fears? Dean knew – Castiel remembered the night in the playground when he admitted that he hated possession movies most of all – that he was terrified of everything. How could he pretend, how could he act like that, after what they had done just a little while ago?

But Dean's flashlight was tight in his hands, angled up, painting his own face in shadow. His eyes were wide, his legs apart, standing like he was ready to run. His chest was rising and falling in deep, labored breaths, and when he reached out his hand, palm up toward Castiel, the dark haired boy realized his friend was shaking.

Castiel licked his lips. Dean couldn't be faking it – he wouldn't try to scare him, not like that – right?

"Dean?" he asked, reaching forward, taking Dean's outstretched hand.

"I swear to you, Cas. I swear. That isn't your priest. Didn't you hear what he was saying?" Dean asked, and Castiel shook his head. Dean took a deep breath in, squeezing Castiel's hand. "He said they're sleeping up there. He said your name. He said 'Castiel and another kid are sleeping upstairs.' He said, 'I can kill the boy and bring the other one. He might know where it is.' Do you have any idea what he could be looking for?"

"What? No," Castiel whispered, drawing himself closer to Dean. His friend wrapped his arms around him, and Castiel was grateful Dean was allowing him this small comfort. "Why would you think he meant me? Do you know anything? Plus how do you know he's a demon… other than the whole 'kill the boy' thing?"

"Sulfur," Dean said. "I smelled it before in the basement – in the catacomb – but it was empty and I thought you'd just imagined something and I should have taken your fear seriously. We should have fucking left then, Cas. We can't stay in here forever. He'll get through the salt."

"Salt?" Castiel asked as Dean drew back and walked around Castiel and back to his duffle bag.

"Salt," Dean repeated, pulling out a shotgun. "It won't kill them, but it stings. Slows them down. Salt rounds in the gun." He pulled out three water bottles and sat them on the table. "Holy water burns too." Then he pulled out two small, sharp daggers. "And iron. But none of that will kill a demon, only piss it off and hurt it."

"How do you know all this?" Castiel asked.

"My dad's a hunter," Dean said, looking down at their weapons. Castiel imagined he was trying to make a plan, but the dark haired boy had no idea what they could possibly do. He couldn't attack anyone – he couldn't attack his priest, or a demon possessing his priest, he supposed – and a demon would probably kill him long before Castiel even got close enough to hurt him. "But demons are huge… terrifying. I'm not going to lie to you. They aren't like ghosts or anything. Demons are big time. They can't be killed. Well, they can be exorcised, but I haven't… I don't have it memorized, and I don't have a copy of an exorcism in my bag. My dad might have one in his journal, but I…" Dean sighed. "I fumble with the Latin and I never figured I would be without Sam, so I just stopped trying to learn it. And what's worse is that they can puff out of their meatsuit – out of the guy they're possessing, your priest – and they could go into one of us. We could be possessed, and if they put one inside of you, you're controlled by it."

They were quiet for a long moment. Dean was panicking; Castiel could recognize the terror vibrating throughout his friend's body. He wanted to ask Dean what the plan was, but when he opened his mouth, something else came out. "You know, when you told me your dad was a hunter before, I thought you meant deer and, like, raccoons. Maybe birds."

Dean snorted. When he turned to face Castiel, he offered a small smile, but it didn't do much to calm the taller boy. Castiel could feel his fear, his uncertainty, and Castiel was scared too. But he placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and nodded toward the weapons on the table.

"So what's the plan?"

* * *

"This is a really terrible plan," Castiel hissed. They had all their stuff: backpacks and coats, sleeping bags tied onto the tops of their bags. Dean had the shotgun with salt rounds, one of the iron knives tucked into his pocket. Castiel had a bottle of Holy Water and a knife. The Sunday school room door was open, the pair of them crouching by the door while Dean looked out, making sure the demon wasn't lurking in the hallway.

"This is the best idea we've got," Dean whispered back. "They're after you, you know. They didn't even know who I was. I'm totally offended, by the way. My dad's sent a handful of them back to hell. I wonder what they think you know…"

"You've only asked that thirty times, Dean. I don't know anything."

"… and I wonder why he never took you before now."

"I still don't know," Castiel snapped. Dean shot him a look – it was more understanding than angry – and it only made Castiel feel worse for snapping.

"Look, I know the plan's not great, but we'll figure something out. My dad won't be gone too much longer and…"

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Castiel asked. "Stay bunkered down with you and Sam in the motel? Do I tell my family? What if they're in danger too? If the demon thinks that I know something that I obviously don't because I'm just a stupid kid who goes to church here, then maybe they think my family knows where whatever they're looking for is. Maybe they think Anna knows. Dean, we have to save Anna."

Dean reached across the doorway, took Castiel's hand and squeezed. "I know it isn't easy, but we have to worry about that later. First and foremost, we have to get out of the church. He still thinks we're asleep, and our only advantage is that he's not expecting us to go anywhere."

"He's also not expecting us to know what he is," Castiel said, squeezing back before dropping his friends hand and picking the water bottle back up. "But you're right, we should go."

Dean nodded, looked out the door into the hallway again, and stood up. He took a step out, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards. Even Castiel was mindful not to step too hard; he didn't need to alert the demon anymore than they already had by just being in the building.

As they were formulating the plan – which was less of a plan and more of a goal: get out of the church no matter what – Dean had told Castiel as much as he could about what to expect. However, Dean was only a kid himself. He was an excellent shot, he said, but he hadn't ever really gone on a hunt before. Twice, their father had taken Sam and Dean on a routine Salt & Burn but only after John had done all the legwork and knew it wasn't going to be dangerous. A handful of times a Shtriga or a werewolf followed them back to the motel and tried to attack. He'd never gone out solo, never even been in the same room as a demon before.

So this, Dean had warned Castiel, was so much worse than a ghost.

Dean was nervous, but he was just as worried about Sam. John always dropped them off in motels a few towns away from where the hunt really was so they would be relatively safe. The guns and salt were just in case, and even though Dean had left Sam's weapons at the motel, he was still desperate to get back there and make sure his brother was okay.

Castiel couldn't help but think about Anna – drunk and out in the woods somewhere – and he hoped to God that the demon didn't have a friend who was going after her. When they reached the top of the stairs, they paused, listening closely to try and hear if the demon was still down there before they stuck their heads out and looked.

When thirty seconds went by without a sound, Dean used the cover of darkness to peek out and see if he could see any light. When he turned to look at Castiel, he said, "Either the demon doesn't need a flashlight or he isn't down there."

Then came the tricky part: they had to walk down the stairs in complete darkness without making a sound. If they continued to use their flashlights, they would be spotted too easily.

It was slow going. Castiel couldn't hear Dean in front of him, but when he reached out a hand, he could feel him there. Occasionally, lightning would light up the sky, and a small burst of light would come in from the window, illuminating their path. It wasn't enough to see by, not by a long shot, but it was comforting to see Dean ahead of him, if only for a flash.

By the time they reached the landing, Castiel felt like his heart was beating through his ribcage. The front door was right there, not even ten feet from the bottom of the staircase, and they were so close to freedom he could almost taste it.

He didn't even care that it was pouring and the pair of them would get soaked as they ran through the woods in the dark to get back to the motel.

Castiel felt something bump against his stomach and for a moment he tensed. When he felt it move, felt that it was a palm pressing against his shirt, he reached up and covered the hand with his own. It was Dean's hand, he guessed, by the way it left his stomach and looped their fingers together. Squeezing Dean's hand, Castiel allowed his friend to pull him toward the door.

Lightning flashed, and Castiel saw Dean's hand on the door. By the time the light died away, the door clicked as Dean pushed it open. Castiel let out a relieved, shaky breath. He was sure the demons would have locked them in and their Plan B was shoddy: either break the door down or bust a window. The patio was under a cover but in the faint glow of the one street light – dead center in the parking lot of the church – Castiel could see it was pouring. The rumble of thunder was so loud he could feel it shake the building.

Dean tugged Castiel's hand, moving to step out of the door. Right before he reached the threshold, the door swung back in. His friend screamed, short and terrified, as the heavy door slammed against the jamb. The sound of it echoed around the room, and then another sound, a faint click: the lock sliding into place.

Castiel was frozen to the spot, but Dean acted with grace. He swung around, putting himself between Castiel and the open room. Castiel turned on his flashlight and raised the beam into the room as Dean raised his shotgun.

There were three of them. Three… things.

He screamed, and it sounded foreign to his ears. In a lifetime of terror, only one occasion came close to this: earlier that day when he saw the creatures in the catacomb. The three things looked just like they had, dark and evil and twisted. Their faces were sullen, gaunt, white like a corpse. Their eyes were dark, the sockets looked dead, and their eyes themselves were shiny, obsidian black. The one to the left opened its mouth and his jaw seemed elongated, unnatural, and Castiel pressed his back against the door, unable to drop the flashlight away from the sight. His free hand clawed at the door, barely managing to remain standing.

"Quiet, Cas," Dean hissed over his shoulder, aim still true at the creatures in the room. One of them, the one wearing his priest, smiled.

"Yes, Castiel. Please be quiet. There's no need to cause such a fuss."

"Don't you talk to him," Dean growled, voice calm – how could he fake sounding so calm, so sure – he did something to the gun, cocked it maybe, and the sound lingered like a threat in the air.

"We don't want to hurt him," the thing – is that what demons looked like? Why wasn't Dean terrified as well? – said, raising his hands as if in surrender. "We're just looking for something."

"Well, he doesn't know where…" Dean started, but Castiel couldn't help it. He couldn't hide his fear any longer.

His voice was shaking as he called out, "What are you? Why do you look… look like that?"

Dean made a sound, perhaps he meant to question what Castiel meant, but the demons grinned. It distorted their features, like the Joker or maybe the Grinch, and Castiel had to use every ounce of courage in his body not to turn away from them.

"So you can see our true faces now?" the demon in his priest asked. "I was sure you saw it once before. About a year ago, when I first entered this sap. You looked at me, terrified for a split second, but I asked you what was wrong. You suppressed your natural ability. The older you get, the easier it is to ignore the signs. At least, that's what we figure. Perhaps the heightened stress of the night returned your self-preservation senses. We'll have to make a note of it for when we find the other one. It's not like there's many of you. Just two. None of us have studied your kind before now."

"That thing, that other demon… I saw you… in the catacomb. Where is he?"

"The demon is back in hell," the demon grinned. "The meatsuit he was riding is rotting in the cornfield. I would have thought your kind were more perceptive."

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed.

"What do you… what do you mean?" Castiel asked. "My kind?"

"No, Cas," Dean said, taking a step back. "Demons lie. They can sort of read your mind, at least a little bit. They know what you want and they can twist it. Demons, they don't want anything, Cas, just death and destruction and chaos. They don't plan; they aren't organized. They're lying to you."

"Look at you," the demon said, stepping closer to the boys. The two on either side of him didn't move. Dean adjusted his aim, taking a step forward like he was challenging the demon to move closer. "The little angel's fucking a little hunter. So which one are you, again? You humans all look the same to me."

"Go fuck yourselves," Dean said, but Castiel had focused on a different part of that sentence.

"Angel?"

"It's a Winchester," one of the demons behind the one in his priest said. He took a step forward, too. "The older kid. I heard your daddy was in the next state over. I thought he'd want to keep his little chicks close, considering what happened to your mother… and your brother."

Dean growled, stepping forward. "What the fuck do you mean, my brother? My brother's fine."

"As fine as any of them, I suppose. Tell me, little hunter… you recognize something's wrong with him, right? Or do you and your daddy turn a blind eye against abominations of your own?" the third demon commented.

"Shut up," Dean yelled, and Castiel could hear it, the panic, the terror in his voice. Dean's pain took precedent over his own fear, and he stepped forward, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder. "You shut up about my brother."

"He _is_ right, you know," the demon in Castiel's priest said. He crossed his arms and offered the boys a smile. "Yellow Eyes has his plan, and we've got ours. So tell us, angel. Where is your Grace?"

Lightning clasped and thunder rolled, allowing a brief moment of silence. Dean, Castiel could see, drew his hand away from the gun to rub at his face. He squeezed his shoulder tighter, trying to bring him some sort of comfort. It didn't seem to work, and when the silence grew over the room again, Castiel turned to face the demons.

"I'm no angel," Castiel said. "I was born. They have baby pictures of me."

"You're right," the demon said. "I misspoke. I should have said ex-angel, fallen. Do you have any idea how hard you were to track? When you ripped out your grace and fell, people reported seeing a comet, you know. You burned that bright. It wasn't hard to track birth records over the town where you were last seen. Only one kid was conceived the month you were. We knew it had to be you. Well, we thought you'd be a little braver, but it must be scary, being cut off from daddy."

"I'm not," Castiel said, frowning. "I never was an angel, and I don't know where that thing is."

"Grace. It's your Grace, Castiel. And it's powerful. Our higher ups want it. We've given you a year to lead us to it, we've tortured our own kind to try and narrow the search, but nothing," the demon in his priest uncrossed his arms and took a step forward. "We're getting it tonight, and you're going to lead us there."

"How could I lead you somewhere that I don't know?"

"We don't know much about you angels," the second demon said. "But we have Lilith and Yellow Eyes. They knew our god, and He told them about the angels: the ignorant, blind beings that casted Him out. He said an angel can feel his Grace, like a beacon, if you're close enough to it. We'll march you all over the country if we have to. You will find us that Grace."

"It takes a little longer than a night to march around the country," Dean said. The demons frowned, shooting a look back at the hunter.

"Look," the demon growled. "We know it isn't on you, and we know you can sense it. We are pretty sure you lost it as you fell, but a certain amount of pressure is being put on us for results. I didn't lie when I said we didn't want to hurt you. If you go with us and search for the Grace, we will allow the Winchester boy to go. After you've found the Grace."

"What do you mean 'after?'" Castiel asked, but he didn't need to wonder for long. The third demon tipped his head back, a puff of black smoke rising from his mouth. The smoke lingered in the air, but the body he had been possessing dropped to the ground, unconscious or dead, Castiel didn't know.

"We'll put a demon in him – for collateral, of course – and hell, we're so generous, we might even allow you to resume your coupling when we aren't searching."

"Oh, fuck no are you riding me," Dean said, and a shot rang out. Castiel had never heard a gun go off before, and it sounded so unnaturally loud in the quiet of the church. The salt round hit the black smoke and the demon made a strange, high pitched, pained sound. It writhed in the air. Dean took aim again, but he didn't shoot.

Did shotguns only hold two rounds?

The black smoke rose toward the ceiling before disappearing in one of the vents. The two remaining demons didn't look afraid, not of Dean and his shotgun, and Castiel gripped the bottle of holy water in his hand. Was he prepared to fight? Could he fight, or would they beat him down so easily it would be better if he became a distraction, letting them capture him as Dean escaped?

"Fine," the demon in his priest said. The church began to shake; the demon in the walls must have been trying to take the building down around them. "Fine, if you don't want to play nice, we'll just take you. Both of you. I wonder what John Winchester will pay to get his little soldier back."

"Nothing," Dean yelled over the rumble of the church. "He'd say it serves my ass right. He wouldn't trade shit for me, so you're wasting your time."

"If that's the case, then you're useless to us," the demon held up his hand and waved it. Dean was gone – slammed into a wall at the other side of the corridor – before he even realized he had moved. His friend dropped the gun, and he winced at the impact. He was trying to crawl back to his feet but the demon gestured again, slamming him back into the other wall. "I'll see you in hell, little hunter."

"Stop," Castiel yelled. Something had been building up inside him, some strong, powerful energy. When he yelled, it pushed away, pushed out of him, and suddenly, the room went silent.

He wasn't sure why, not at first, but when he looked up, he noticed the demons were no longer standing where they had been. Instead, the two demons were on the ground, thrown back against the far wall. Two tables were knocked over in their path.

For a moment, they laid still. Castiel was breathing heavily, and he looked down at his hands, unsure where that power came from. Then he looked up; the church had stopped shaking. He didn't know if that demon was gone or not, but before he had much time to think about it, the two started to stand up again.

Castiel raised his hand, moved by some instinct that he couldn't understand, but before he could do anything, before his body could tell him what he needed to do next, the demons tipped their heads back and puffed out of their hosts.

It took four steps to make it to Dean, and when he reached down, the boy took his hand. He allowed Castiel to haul him to his feet, then he bent over and picked up the gun. For a second, the pair of boys just looked at each other before Castiel grabbed Dean's hand again and took off toward the door.

With as much force as the door had slammed in on them before, it pushed open now. The doors hit the outside walls of the church with such a loud bang, Castiel was sure that the doors had either snapped off their hinges or had broken the siding of the church. He didn't stop running to see, he just pulled Dean out of the church and into the rain.

It poured down around them, and Castiel felt drenched instantly. He didn't stop running until they hit the road, but that was as far as they had planned. They hadn't discussed whether they would head back to the motel the back way or through town, and Castiel squeezed Dean's fingers, looking for guidance.

Dean grinned at him, "Don't take this the wrong way, Cas, but you know what? I think I was touched by an angel. And here I thought it was blasphemy enough I took your virginity in a church, but nope. I took an _angel's_ virginity in a church. You think your Dad's gonna be mad at me? Does that mean God's real too, since apparently angels are a thing?"

"I'm not an angel, Dean. What way should we go? Will they come back? They aren't gone, are they?"

"Hey!" a voice called out from the back road back to the motel, and for a moment, they couldn't see anything. It was raining pretty hard, but after a second, the bushes parted and a kid walked out. Castiel couldn't make out his features in the storm, he was too far away, but he could tell the kid had a backpack. For a moment, he thought the demons had entered the boy – trying to use his small, unassuming frame as a way to get the boys to trust him – but then Dean ripped his fingers from Castiel's hand and started running toward him.

"Sam," Dean called as he ran. The boy was only thirty feet away or so, but as Castiel stood in the pouring rain, watching the brothers meet in the middle of the street, he felt a pull of something bigger than fear, something stronger. Dean checked over Sam – by the looks of it, the younger boy wasn't having any of it – and Sam batted his hand away. The two of them ran back toward Castiel.

Despite the fact Sam was walking alone on an abandoned street after midnight, he seemed to be in good spirits. Dean told Sam the very minimal amount to get them moving – "Demons are in the church. Gotta get out of there" – before the three of them cut into the forest, walking back toward town.

Castiel had wanted to run. More than anything, he wanted to set a pace just over his record best. He wanted to run until his legs were sore and his lungs were burning, but the Winchesters weren't distance runners. Either of them might outpace Castiel if they were only running to the edge of the woods – although that would be unlikely, between both of their backpacks and Dean's duffle bag full of weapons – but they needed to make a plan. They walked quickly through the woods, three flashlights illuminating their path. The occasional tree root caused Castiel to stumble twice, and Dean grinned – high on adrenalin, must be – and said, "Some angel you are."

As Dean told Sam the story about the demons – it was only a small point of pride that Dean made him seem braver and stronger than he felt – while the dark haired boy trembled. It was partly due to fear, but mostly because of the cold rain. Under the protection of the trees, they weren't getting rained on heavily, just the occasional drips, but Castiel's clothes were already soaked through, chilling his skin.

He couldn't help but think about how he longed to grab Dean's hand. The Winchesters were walking side-by-side, two paces ahead of Castiel, and he felt like an outside among them. Well, even more of an outsider. Their triad was usually fairly stable – Castiel considered Sam one of his best friends – but he hadn't realized before now how truly dyadic their relationships were, especially now.

Dean and Sam were brothers, and they were human, which was something Castiel apparently wasn't. No, he had to be. He couldn't be an angel. They read about angels in church; they talked about them in youth group. They were warriors of God. They fought without fear, smiting Lucifer and his followers. They were messengers, the keepers of God's divine law.

Castiel had cried once because he was afraid of his shadow.

He couldn't have ever been an angel, not even in a past life.

And as Dean chatted on, giddy and happy, Castiel felt himself grow darker. He knew what had happened between him and Dean would stay that way: between them. Dean wasn't going to tell anyone, Castiel wasn't going to tell anyone, and nobody would ever find out. It was dangerous for someone to find out.

But he was so afraid. He felt wounded, like there was a deep, gaping hole inside him. He felt incomplete or somehow wrong. He felt like he had jumped off the deep end, not knowing how to swim, with no life vest. He was struggling to stay afloat, and he just wanted a hand – Dean's hand – and Dean had skipped over their coupling like it had meant nothing. He was suffocating, and Dean didn't care.

"Cas?" Sam asked, stopping in his tracks and turning around. It was Sam who reached out a tentative hand, bringing it up to grip at Castiel's forearm. There was something inside Sam, something he could almost see… "Cas, you have to get a grip, man. Demons possess people when they can find a way in. They look for vulnerable people, and if you panic, you're wide open to them."

Castiel looked down at Sam's hand, then up at Dean. His friend didn't make a move to comfort him – he wouldn't touch him again, and certainly not with Sam around – and Castiel couldn't control the things that he was feeling. He was angry and jealous, lonely and sad, afraid; his emotions were running the gamut inside him, but more than anything else, he felt betrayed.

Dean was denying him, but he had expected that. He never expected more from Dean; he didn't even expect what he'd already gotten. Worse than Dean, his body had betrayed him, somehow. He wasn't who he thought he was – couldn't remember who he had been, if he had been anything else at all – or maybe, he was still exactly the same.

An angel, too afraid of something to continue living on, fell to earth. He grew up into the most timid, spineless, useless human among them.

"Cas?" Sam asked, but Castiel stepped back, trying to pull away.

"I'm not…" He started, but he didn't know how he meant to finish it. If he said panicking, it would be a lie. If he said a human or an angel, it seemed wrong too. "I'm just not."

"You are," Dean said suddenly, with conviction as if his word was gospel, final. Finally, he reached out, brushing his cold, clammy palm against Castiel's, holding them together for a moment. "You are, and we will help you. But you can't shut down on us now, Cas. We need you, buddy."

Castiel looked at Dean before adjusting his gaze to look at the smaller boy. Sam, just twelve, seemed so fearless, so sure. He had taken Dean's word on faith, and he was looking at Castiel differently, just a bit; his face was bright with awe. He was smiling, too, and nodding. So Castiel sighed.

"Might I ask the plan?"

"Well," Sam said, pulling Castiel's arm to get them walking again. He dropped it when they were all in a line – Castiel between the Winchesters – and Dean dropped his hand shortly after. This time, it didn't feel like such a loss. "Here's the thing: we've got two options."

"Option one?" Dean asked.

"The reason why I snuck out after midnight to crash your slumber party – since apparently you were too busy fighting demons to care about what I was doing walking to the church with my gear – is because Dad's back."

They had barely walked twenty paces, but Dean stopped again. He reached out a hand, stopping Castiel as he reached past him to grab Sam's shoulder. "What?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, he didn't see me home alone," Sam shrugged. "I heard the Impala roll up and grabbed my stuff and climbed out the back window. I mean, he's going to be pissed that we weren't there, but it's better if he thinks we were gone together, rather than realizing you were out by yourself, leaving me in the hotel alone again, to get busy with your boyfriend, am I right?"

Suddenly, Castiel wasn't cold any longer. Dean sputtered for a second, his hand tightening on Sam's shoulder like he was threatening him, but the twelve-year-old just grinned.

"Cas isn't my… we aren't…" Dean started, shooting a panicked look at Castiel for help. "I'm not…"

But he was just as speechless.

"Bullshit," Sam said. "But either way, dad's back. We could take the demon and angel thing up with him."

Dean looked at Castiel, then looked back at Sam. "Please tell me option two is better."

"Well, you said the demons were looking for his Grace right? They tracked him by using reports of a comet seen nine months before his birthday. They also said he must have lost track of it when he was falling. Don't you think his Grace made another comet? We just have to look up reports of unexplained phenomena in the sky around the same time," Sam said. "Hopefully it landed close by."

"It could be anywhere," Dean groaned.

"So we get the… my Grace?" Castiel asked. "And do what with it, give it to them? Then they'll leave us alone?"

The Winchesters looked at each other, then looked at their friend. Castiel knew the answer even before the Winchesters said anything.

"If you're a flesh and blood angel, they'll torture you for information," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Best bet is to put the Grace back in you. We've heard jack shit about angel lore, so we have no idea what kind of powers you'll get, but an angel has to trump a demon, right? Then you can get rid of them."

"Get rid of them?"

"Kill them," Sam said. "Or send them back to hell. We won't know what you're capable of until we find your Grace and get you juiced back up."

Castiel frowned. If he fell, if he really did become a human, there must have been a damn good reason he didn't want to be an angel any longer. He couldn't remember anything, but going back… it scared him.

Everything scared him.

But if they didn't get rid of the demons, they would come back for them. They would hurt the Winchesters. They would take Castiel's family. And Castiel knew he had to be brave; he had to face this. He had to get his Grace back or they were all dead.

"So," Castiel asked. "How are we supposed to look for comet sightings?"

"Duh, Cas," Sam grinned. "Library archives."

Dean smiled and patted Castiel's back. Castiel was an outsider; he was not among them. He might not even be fully human. But the Winchesters were smiling – not pitying, little smiles – but wide and alive. They were brave, and Castiel could be brave too.

"Then, to the library."

* * *

The storm was still raging when they got to the library. The building itself was never designed to be a library; instead, it was converted from one of the old houses in the center of town. Originally, it had been built by the priest of the Presbyterian Church down the street in the seventeen hundreds. Rumor had it, his ghost and the ghost of his first wife still haunted the building.

Castiel stood shivering as Sam picked the backdoor lock. It was the younger Winchester telling the ghost story – as if demons weren't enough of a supernatural crisis – and when he pulled the door back, holding it open for Dean and Castiel to walk through, the dark haired boy spoke up.

"I spent every day in this library this summer. I've lived in this town nearly my whole life, and I've never heard that story before," Castiel said, wiping off his feet on the rug before giving up and taking his shoes and socks off. He pulled off his dripping jacket, but he was completely soaked through. If they were going to spend any time here – and Castiel was pretty sure they were; how long would it take to look up comet sightings from nearly seventeen years ago? – he was going to have to change into his spare clothes.

He hoped his backpack kept them dry.

"I figured as much. The librarian was telling some little kids about it and I've never seen anything weird, either. And I, at least, knew what I was looking for," Sam said, pulling the door shut behind him.

He turned back to the Winchesters, suggesting that they change – no need to make a mess of the library with their dripping, right? – but Dean was already stripped down to his briefs, and Sam was pulling off his shirt and hoody as one.

Castiel turned back away, the heat from his blush overpowering the chill in his bones for a second or two before he walked away, leaving the brothers arguing over the merit of ghost stories to change in the privacy of the large bathroom.

He took his time. His t-shirt clung to his skin; his jeans felt too tight. Everything was damp, and he wished he'd taken one of the towels from Dean's bag to dry his clammy skin. The library was usually warm, even in the dead of winter, but there was a bite to the air now. He wasn't comforted by the familiarity, and the library was another home to Castiel, right after his actual house and the church.

Everything felt foreign, like everything had been ripped away from him. He stood for a long moment in just his underwear, hands gripping the edges of the sink, alternating between staring at the porcelain and looking up to see if his reflection was any different than it had been hours ago.

It wasn't, with the exception of a few things. His chest was marked with bruises.

For a moment, he thought it was from the demons, but as he stood up, examining his body in the small mirror, he realized they were from Dean. His fingers drew up, running over his cool skin. He could feel his abdominal muscles, his ribs, his heartbeat. He was flesh and blood – human – a human who had been marked by another, loved, if only for one night.

When he looked back up, looking over his scared face and his dark, tired eyes, he knew without a doubt that what the demons had said was true. He couldn't remember – he couldn't remember anything about it – but he could feel it, somewhere deep down inside of him. Castiel had fallen, and he had fallen for this, for a night like this. He had chosen to become this flesh and blood boy.

And everything in his body was screaming at him, begging him not to make him go back.

Instead, he stepped away from the mirror and pulled down his boxers. He pulled out his change of clothes and tugged them on as quickly as he could. Balling his wet clothes up, he threw his backpack back over his shoulder and walked back into the main section of the building.

If he didn't go back and become an angel again, the Winchesters and his family were in danger. He needed to remember what he was fighting for.

From the fiction section, he could hear the brothers talking in the archive room in the back. He saw their clothes hanging from the backs of chairs to dry – he was just going to put them in a bag and throw them into his backpack, but this seemed more logical – so he draped his over a wooden chair too. He stood for a moment in the relative darkness, a handful of lights were left on in the library at all times, listening to the brothers as they searched for any clues.

But instead of joining them, Castiel walked to the lobby. Behind the reception desk, he found a phone. For a moment he wondered if the power was out here, like it was at the church, but he remembered the lights and took the phone from the receiver, listening for a dial tone. Either the storm hadn't knocked it out this far away, or the demons had cut the power in the church; either way, the second he heard the sound, he punched in the seven digits without stopping to think of the time.

It rang and rang, and just when he started to panic about the possibility that the demons had already gotten his parents, his mother answered the phone with a sleepy, _"Hello?"_

"Mom?" Castiel asked, even though he knew her voice, knew it would be her.

"_Obviously,"_ she said, sighing a little. Castiel heard a chair against the linoleum; his mother must have sat down. _"Aren't you having fun with your friend?"_

"I…" Castiel started, realizing he was supposed to still be sleeping at Dean's. Not that his mother knew he was living in the motel, but still. Castiel shook his head, putting his elbow on the counter, putting his forehead in his hand. She sounded exhausted, but not surprised, like she had expected him to call and beg for a ride home. Was that why he was calling her now? Begging to go home or saying goodbye? He wouldn't be able to stay when he got his Grace back, would he? He fought the tears that stung his eyes. "No, mom… everything's… it's all okay."

"_I can hear that you're lying to me, Castiel,"_ his mother said, but she was gentle. She was always gentle with him. _"Are you scared?"_

"I'm terrified," he whispered back, rubbing away the tears that started to spill from his eyes.

"_Did your friend and his brother go to bed already? Do you want me to come and get you?"_

For a long moment, Castiel was silent. More than anything, he wanted his mother to come and get him, to take him away, to keep him safe, and not let him go back. He wanted to hide with her forever. But he knew what would happen if he did. The demons would come for him – they would slaughter his family – and they would take him to search for his Grace anyway.

Instead, Castiel shook his head. He cleared his throat and mumbled, "I forgot to tell you good night, and that I loved you."

"_What?"_

"You weren't home from work when I left. I never got to tell you I loved you before bed."

He heard his mom chuckle, and it was a sound Castiel clung to, wanted to remember always. _"Even if you forgot to say it, doesn't mean that I forgot that it was true. But now you've said it, so you can go to sleep. Good night, Castiel. I love you, too."_

"Mom, wait…" Castiel hurried before his mother could hang up on him. "Anna… is Anna home? I needed to… to ask her something."

"_She's spending the night at her friend's house, remember? Write it down, and you can ask her in the morning. See you tomorrow,"_ his mother said, and then the line went dead.

Castiel carefully put the phone back onto the receiver, folded his arms against the table, and put his head in his arms. He didn't try to stop the tears this time.

He had no idea how long he was sitting there until he felt a hand smooth over his back.

Castiel rolled his head to the side, dragging his face against his sleeves, trying to hide the fact he had been crying. Dean must have realized, but he didn't say anything about it. In fact, Dean didn't look like he was paying much attention to Castiel at all, other than the warm palm on his back. His face was serious, but his eyes were far away.

When Castiel moved to sit up, Dean finally looked down at him. Whatever he was thinking about moved to the backburner; instead, Dean adopted one of his easy, cocky grins. He put his shotgun on the counter – he had refused to put it away since the church – and turned back to his friend. "Breaking and entering twice in one night. You really are a rebel angel."

"And desecrated a church," Castiel tried to smile. At that, Dean's grin turned softer, his hand on his friend's back moving to touch his shoulder instead. It paused there for a brief moment, still well within the realm of how two friends should touch each other, before Dean's hand moved instead to the back of Castiel's neck. His thumb touched Castiel's jaw, and the dark haired boy breathed in. He hadn't really thought that Dean would ever touch him romantically again. "That seems like a pretty big blasphemy for an angel."

"An angel, Cas," Dean said, his voice light. There was some sort of wonder there, like he still couldn't believe it himself. "That's something I'm never gonna really get over."

Castiel looked down, smile melting off his face. "I… I'm sorry, Dean. If I'd have known, I would have told you."

"What?" Dean dropped to his knees on the chair before Castiel, both hands going to his friend's face, forcing him to look at him. "No, man, that's not what I meant. You think I'm mad? I meant… for one night, I got to… and even though you were a human and didn't know any better at the time, and even though you'll just become this… powerful, heavenly angel and forget about me… nobody can take tonight away from me, you know? I'll remember it. I'll remember you, even if you forget about me."

"I won't," Castiel said, leaning over, resting his forehead against Dean's. "I won't forget about you."

"We don't know," Dean said, closing his eyes. "When you get your Grace back, you might forget all your Earth memories. But even if you don't, you'll probably be busy. Too busy to keep visiting a dumb kid like me. For a second, when they first said it… I was so hopeful, you know? Cause if you were an angel, you could… I don't know… watch over us. Keep us safe. Even, if you wanted to, you could visit me when Sam wasn't around. We could… I don't know; we could be like…"

But Castiel did know. From where their foreheads were resting together, Castiel moved back just enough so he could change the angle, pressing his lips against his friend's again.

He didn't know what would happen after he took his Grace back – that was a mystery – but right here, right now and right here, he knew. He knew what he meant to Dean; he knew what Dean meant to him. He knew, if given the chance, he would watch out for his friends to the best of his ability.

He knew he wanted to keep kissing Dean.

His friend's hands were on his knees, trying to push up and gain some leverage in the kiss, and Castiel's arms wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him close. It was slow and full of the promise of what they could be, what they wanted to be, but soon, they were back to pressing foreheads together, sharing each other's breath.

"So get this," Sam's voice cut in from across the room. Castiel sat up, moving away from Dean. He had expected his friend to leave, but instead, he just stood. He reached down, taking Castiel's hand and leaning back against the desk before looking at his brother. Sam nodded and waved a book in the air. "There's actually only a handful of comet, asteroid, shooting star, whatever sightings that date back to 1978 and 1979."

"You found that out already?"

"Yeah," Sam asked, grinning. "No wonder dad never sent you out on research duty. They kept awesome records of the microfilm archives here." Sam flipped open the book. "I mean, scary good records. If you go to the weather chapter, it breaks it into categories – rain storms, lightning storms, snow storms – and under the shooting star category there are only a handful of articles from those years. Bad news is that only three articles are local. All the others came from a couple of states away. We might need to steal the car."

Dean groaned, bringing his – and by extension, Castiel's – hand to his face. He kissed over his friend's fingers, just briefly, focused more on his thinking than his actions. "Dad'll kill us."

"Yeah, well, like I said. There were some local ones too. Also, there's a handful of unexplained nature phenomena around here that dates back to the same time. We should probably look into that, too. But anyway, if you're finished for now, it might go a little faster if you help me read the articles."

"What do you mean finished…" Castiel started, but Dean cut him off. It was a small kiss, a press of lips and a soft sound, before Dean was backing away again.

Dean stood and tugged Castiel's hand until he was standing too. His friend winked at Castiel and said, "… for now."

Castiel saw Sam roll his eyes as Dean followed him, dragging Castiel back to the archive room.

It didn't take the Winchesters too long to read over the handful of astrologically unexplained phenomena, but it only sort of helped. They determined that there was an unexplained comet sighting nine months before Castiel was born, but it was seen shooting across three states and it could have landed anywhere.

Sam made Castiel tell him everything he could about his childhood that might offer a clue of where to start, but it didn't really help. Well, it did, but it didn't help Sam's search. Instead, the memories brought back something constant. These were things he remembered, things people had told him. It was proof that his life had really happened. It steadied him.

Sam went on looking through the local archives for something weird touching down, but Dean was watching his friend, nodding along with his stories.

Castiel told him about how they moved to town when he was a baby because Anna had some sort of mental break down when she was two. Castiel couldn't remember it – he had been a baby at the time – and their parents didn't like to talk about why she had seen a therapist. There was a specialist here, and his parents had said that Castiel had been a finicky baby, but when they moved to town, he became much more peaceful, subdued.

He told them about his own stint with make-shift, sibling therapy – Anna begging Castiel not to tell anyone about how angry their dad was, that he had to forget about his dad or they would get in trouble – and Castiel's paralyzing fear because of it. Thanks to Anna's childish attempts to help Castiel burry it down so he wouldn't upset their parents like Anna had, his fear had morphed from their father's wrath into something bigger, into everything.

His parents had never made Castiel see Anna's therapist because Anna had helped to push it away, but he wondered if he had seen them, if they could have pushed away his fear as well, instead of just misdirecting it until he was afraid of the world.

It wasn't until he felt Dean's hand on his knee, a soft, reassuring squeeze, did he look back up at his friends. He hadn't realized that Sam had started ignoring the microfilm machine and was staring at him with some kind of wonder again, and he bit his lip and tried to look away again.

"Cas, where do you feel the safest?" Sam asked him suddenly. "You said you stopped crying when your family moved here so maybe your Grace is here in town."

"The church," Castiel said, then shook his head. "Or, it was the church. Now it terrifies me."

Sam let out a frustrated groan, but Dean just looked at him, a frown on his face. "When did it start getting scary?" Dean asked.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. "Somewhere between when you made me walk around in the dark with a flashlight and when I found out a demon was possessing my priest, but…"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You know, I seem to recall exactly what happened between those two points."

Sam sighed, and Castiel rolled his eyes. "… I saw the demon's face before we… you know, so I don't think you have angel memory restorative properties."

"Well, whatever," Dean said. "But either way, that demon said that the stress must have triggered it because he'd been riding your priest for a while. So what place, up until tonight, seemed super safe, but what place seems the most terrifying now. I'm talking specifics. Not just the church. Where in the church?"

Castiel sat back in his chair and thought. The terror was bleeding into everything, but he knew his whole body was screaming not to go near the church. He could feel the church as the epicenter, and when he thought rationally about it, he should feel more afraid of the demons than the church itself. The demons, after all, could have found different hosts – hell, they could have puffed back into the priest and the two men – and they could be right outside the library. The Winchesters had blocked off the archive room with salt while Castiel had changed, but their rations were low and didn't have enough to block every entrance and exit in the place.

Especially not knowing what they would end up needing to go find the Grace.

Still, Castiel was relatively calm here. While he was still worried about the demons finding him, it was a lot less terrifying than the idea of finding his Grace and the uncertainty of what it would mean to become an angel again.

He was hiding in the library; not helping the Winchesters because he feared what could happen if they succeeded in their plan.

Hiding.

Castiel thought about the hide and seek game they used to play with his youth group. He could remember crying in the stairwell with Anna. He remembered the catacombs; _"Castiel, run!"_ Anna had screamed. She was so terrified, like she could see something he couldn't. They made it to the stairwell, and he was sobbing, desperate to hide in his safe spot. His spot in the kitchen cupboard behind the paper towels where nobody ever found him.

His heart leapt to his throat, and he had to put his hand on the table to steady himself.

His body was shaking with fear, violent and unstable. It felt like he was getting ripped apart – like getting ripped apart would be better than this – and he could almost see it: a bright, white light leaving his hands as he fell toward the ground.

The cupboard behind the paper towels had always been warm, inviting. It always seemed to accommodate him, even when he should have been much too big to hide in there. He fell asleep in there once, and he swore he heard singing.

But now, he imagined it dark. There wasn't light in there; how could he have never noticed before that there was no light in there?

Because there was. There had been. He was sure of it.

There was light. The glimmers of indescribable beauty, the way the sun rose over the mountains. There was camaraderie, a form of love that had seemed so powerful then, when there were no feelings, just words to describe what he had saw and a desperate desire to feel what the humans were feeling, too. There was family and purpose.

There was no fear, just a loyal soldier.

Then his sister was gone. A flash of light, two shooting stars. The loss he felt then… there was none, even though he knew there should be. More than the experiences his sister had dreamed about, he wanted her back.

There was pain. Two shooting stars.

And now there was fear. The darkness didn't exist before, not like it did now.

But neither did the light.

"Cas?" Dean asked, hand squeezing his friend's knee under the table.

Castiel looked up at the brothers. They had matching looks: eyebrows furrowed, eyes wide, corners of their lips down. Concern.

He could lie. He knew he could lie and the brothers would never know the difference. They might not ever figure it out. Their father would find them and drag them away, just like Dean had always promised that he would.

"It used to feel so warm, like unconditional love… like my mom hugging me when I was scared. And even now that I know what it is, I'm drawn to it. I miss it, even though I don't know what I'm missing. A little bit of me, I think, even wants to go back. But the nothing. It's scary."

"What do you mean the nothing?"

"No fear," Castiel said, knuckles white on the table. "But nothing else either. Just watching, never experiencing. It's terrifying."

The Winchesters were silent for a long time, and Castiel was thankful for it. He knew there were other options. They could tell John Winchester; he would be able to exorcise the demons. But how long until more came? His family, _his sister_, who he loved so much. They would be gone.

They would be gone either way, but at least he could save them.

How could the colors of the sun, the earth, all of their Father's creations be so vivid when everything else was gray, with no emotional filter to experience them through?

"It's back at the church," Castiel said, standing up. The brothers didn't make a move, not at first, and Castiel nodded at them. "I'll get some bags to put our wet clothes in. It sounds like the storm has stopped."

He didn't miss the look the Winchesters shot at each other as they stood, putting the film rolls and books away, cleaning up the salt on the floor as best they could, saving it for whatever may come. Castiel put their clothes in plastic bags, put the bags into their backpacks, and slipped on his shoes.

When the Winchesters finally left the library, Castiel was standing in the yard. The grass was damp, but his shoes were wet anyway. They soaked through his dry pair of socks, and his feet were getting cold.

He looked up at the sky and wondered if his feet would ever be cold again.

* * *

Dean had a knife in his pocket, Sam had one in his hand, and Castiel only had a bottle of holy water. He felt defenseless as they stood under the arch of the church by the door, but he could tell by the way the brothers held themselves that the weapons would be of far greater use in their hands. Dean was holding the shotgun like it was an extension of his limbs; he was that comfortable with it. In one fluid moment, Sam went from holding the knife from blade up to blade down, making it more effective for slashing.

Castiel didn't even think to unscrew the top of the water bottle until Sam pushed the door open, and then he decided he would probably end up dropping it and wasting it, so he kept the top on anyway.

It was still dark in the room. All three boys had flashlights, and the Winchesters led the way into the main room where they had coffee hour, where they had been attacked before. The tables were still out of place, but the bodies weren't there anymore. Dean and Sam followed some pattern to scope out the room, but Castiel aimed his flashlight at the wall. He didn't need the beam to flip the light switch, and he certainly didn't need it after the room burst into light.

Both Winchesters cried out, eyes used to the darkness, startled. They turned around, throwing twin glares at the dark-haired boy, but Castiel just shrugged. "They must have turned the power back on."

"You never turn the lights on," Dean hissed, gesturing wildly to the room as if that answered something.

"Because it's spookier with them off?" Castiel tried to joke, unsure and with his throat dry, but Sam shook his head.

"Because now if they see the light, they'll know we're here," he said, and for a moment, everyone was quiet. Castiel could feel his Grace. It was like a heartbeat or something electric, and he couldn't believe he couldn't recognize it before. "You might want to grab it before they come back."

Castiel had wanted more time. He had wanted to say goodbye, unsure about what would happen when he took his Grace back. He could forget being human, like Dean said. He could be punished – there was a reason he was afraid of going back – or he could get called away. Castiel had no idea what could happen, and he had wanted to hold Dean in his arms one last time. He had wanted to say goodbye to Sam and tell him it was okay if he took any of Castiel's books, whatever he could carry, whatever John wouldn't find and throw away.

He had a feeling that he wouldn't need them when he was an angel.

But instead, he nodded around the lump in his throat and walked to the kitchen.

The pull of his Grace was stronger in here. Knowing what it was – even not knowing what it would do – made it harder to ignore. Castiel had fallen asleep before, in this hiding spot. Time and time again, one of the seekers opened the door and didn't see Castiel hiding behind the paper towels. He moved quickly, surely across the room, his fear dying as he approached the corner cupboard.

It was to the left of the window. The window faced away, toward the cornfield behind the church, but it gave full view of the garden between the building and the field. He knew every inch of that garden, and as he got on his knees and pulled the cupboard door open, he couldn't help but think about the long summers he and Anna had spent out there.

The garden had been there since before Anna and Castiel's parents moved them to town, but only by a year or two. As kids, Anna and Castiel would run around outside, sitting with their backs against the miracle tree, reading books together. They had wanted to tend the garden, they had begged all winter long, but when the spring came it was no use.

The garden was always tended; it didn't need a gardener.

And as Castiel pushed the paper towels out of the way, looking into the darkness of the cupboard, he frowned. He could feel it, but when he reached out and let his fingers brush against the wood of the wall – the wall that separated him from the garden – he could feel the warmth of his Grace.

But he couldn't touch it.

Castiel crawled back out of the cupboard and moved to look out the window.

"Uh, Cas?"

"It isn't the cupboard," Castiel said. It was dark, and he shouldn't be able to see the garden, the cornfield, anything. But he could. He could see it, faint and glowing, over the miracle tree. "It's a story they used to tell us to teach us about God's creations. One day, the old priest – the one before this one – left the church thinking that the cornfields were killing the earth. Corn isn't really sustainable, you know? It leaches the nurturance from the ground. He thought about whether or not anything could grow without the use of fertilizers and pesticides and everything. The next day he looked out the window and there was a sapling where there wasn't one before, right there, right next to the church. And all these flowers had bloomed around it. It was out of season, but…"

Castiel turned, facing the Winchesters. Dean had lowered his shotgun, but Sam's grip on the knife remained steady. Neither of them were doing much as lookout; both of them were turned away from the door, looking at Castiel as if he had grown another head.

Maybe he had. He felt like he had.

The electricity in the air seemed to be pumping into him, feeding him courage, and he felt high with it. Invincible. And maybe that was the design of Grace. Castiel didn't know. But he smiled, true and big and wild across his face, and then ran. He ran past the Winchesters – although he could hear them close on his tail, yelling his name, warning him to be careful – and he ran out the door. He made his way to the garden in darkness, knowing the placement of each flower well enough to step around them to reach the tree.

Dean and Sam stopped walking behind him, twenty feet away. Castiel stood before the miracle tree, looking up at its branches. The leaves had turned colors, but not all of them had fallen yet.

"It grew," Castiel said, reaching a hand out to touch the bark. It was warm, warmer than a tree should be in November, and he could feel something in there moving to meet his hand. "It grew in a year from a sapling to this."

"Cas, wait," Dean said from behind him. It was a whisper, like he was still trying to hide, trying not to give away their location. White light that moved like a liquid came from the tree, swirling around Castiel's arm. "Cas, stop. Maybe… dude, we'll just go get my dad. You don't have to do this."

"Cas!" Sam called, but it was too late.

Castiel opened his mouth and shut his eyes.

The light moved inside of him. It didn't taste like anything, just a warm pulse on his tongue. He didn't feel it go in his throat, wasn't sure if it spread through his digestive system or respiratory system, but there was no light left on the outside of his body. It was all trapped within.

For a second it seemed fine, stable. But he had collapsed to his knees, hands finding the ground to catch himself from falling on his face. He was breathing heavily, but it seemed like it was happening to someone else.

He felt hands on him, but he couldn't hear the Winchesters. He looked up, saw their mouths moving, but there was feedback, static so loud it was deafening. Castiel pushed the hands on him away as the Grace pushed at his body, seeking to be free.

"Run," Castiel begged. When he looked at his friends, his eyes felt different. The look of fear in the Winchesters' faces proved that whatever he felt, they could see. "Get back," Castiel said. "And shut your eyes."

He couldn't believe how slowly time felt, watching the Winchesters run away so they were no longer touching him. They didn't go far, just back to the edge of the garden, and it took everything in Castiel's power to hold the Grace in, keep it from exploding until he knew they were safe.

His eyes met Dean's – Sam was already covering his face with his hands – and Castiel screamed. It sounded loud and panicked and terrified, even to his own ears. "Dean, _shut your eyes."_

The screaming continued as the Grace burned through his body, but he held on until he saw Dean turn his head away and bring his arm up to shield his eyes.

Then Castiel let go. His head was tilted upward, toward the heavens, and he could see the light flowing past him from his eyes, his mouth, his fingertips.

Until there was nothing left.

* * *

Castiel felt nothing.

He was vaguely aware that he was flying – or maybe falling with style – but he couldn't feel the wind in his hair or on his face. He knew after sixteen years, it should feel amazing, stretching his wings again, but he felt no happiness. No sadness. No fear.

He felt nothing.

It probably had only taken a couple of seconds since his Grace destroyed his body and the force of it sent him soaring, but he was already halfway back to heaven. He stopped flying, hovering in air for a second, before looking down at the earth. He could reach the Winchesters in seconds, but in this form he would do more damage to them than any help he could give. He would burn out their eyes and pop their ear drums or cause death on accident.

Castiel's memory was working slowly, but he quickly dug up the file on vessels. The angels weren't allowed to take vessels – it had been forbidden for a long time – but he had already disobeyed. He knew they would kill him for that as soon as they caught him.

He needed to locate his vessel and somehow manage to convince him to let him in. It wouldn't be long – Castiel just needed to kill the demons to make sure the Winchesters and the Miltons were safe – and maybe he should relocate the Miltons so that none of the other demons would remember them and…

Anna. Anna Milton. He had to hide his sister from everyone: the angels, the demons. She would be killed by both sides. He had to save her.

He located one of his vessel's souls easily – not his true vessel, but one that would hold him long enough for what he needed to do – and was about to take off again when he felt something brush against his wing.

It was the first thing he'd felt since regaining his true form, and the new angel would have gasped if he had lungs to fill. It was overwhelming, the touch when there was previously nothing, that he turned around before he realized he should have flown away or grabbed his angel blade. As it was, he was looking at the shining mass that was his brother, defenseless.

He would have summoned the blade now – he needed to fight, he needed to save the Winchesters and Anna before they killed him for disobeying – but it would be useless here. He would never win a fight against this brother. "Michael," Castiel said, his voice coming rough and deep, deeper than it had when he was briefly human. "Michael, please…"

"Hello, Castiel," Michael replied, eyes dancing over Castiel's true form. He tried to back away from his brother's gaze, but he couldn't quite manage. It was awe-inspiring, seeing his eldest brother again. He was beautiful, maybe the second most beautiful angel in creation after Lucifer, and Castiel hadn't seen him in a long time, even before the short stint on earth. Michael was the most powerful among them, the one who would have sensed his return first, the one who would kill Castiel for his disobedience the same way he had casted Lucifer out for his. "It's good to see you return to us."

"Give me one day, Michael," Castiel begged. "Some humans saved me. Allow me to return the favor."

"Some humans saved your fragile human body and soul," Michael laughed. At first, Castiel frowned, assuming Michael was laughing at him, but then his brother shook his head. "Not some humans, Castiel. The Winchesters saved you."

"You know of the Winchesters?" Castiel asked, and Michael laughed again.

"They are a product of Cupid's arrow, generations back on both sides of their family," Michael admitted. "Big plans for those boys."

"What do you mean, I…"

"Listen, Castiel. There was a reason I met you before you could breach the Gates of Heaven or take on a vessel to return to Earth. Things have gotten complicated. _You _made things complicated. You were never supposed to fall," Michael started, but Castiel interrupted.

"None of us were meant to fall, Michael."

"That's not true. Lucifer was, and even Anna was. They both were part of our Father's bigger plan, but we had no idea you would follow her. You were never supposed to do that. You weren't supposed to meet the Winchesters yet. This is not how their timelines were supposed to progress."

"So they're…" Castiel frowned, but Michael waved his hand.

"Listen, Castiel. You don't have much time. The demons have them. I'll remake your human body to act as a vessel, and then you need to fix what you have done. I can assure you that you won't be punished for your descent, but only if you fix this," Michael moved closer to Castiel and brushed against his wings again. "You're important in this divine plan, Castiel. You will be important to the Winchesters later in life. I need you to be with me on this, if we have any chance for success."

From this high up, Castiel could see the clouds moving over the mountains. It was night time, but the ground was alight with lamps and lights, like one of those pictures from space. He could see the sun rising over the curve of the earth, and he could feel Dean's soul like a beacon, bright but pained.

He could _feel_ it. He turned back to Michael.

"What do I need to do?"

"You need to leave them, leave them all," His brother leaned closer, whispering the words as if it was a secret from Heaven and the Earth and all in between. Castiel felt again, something deep and dark, something he would have called sadness or regret before. He could still feel it – he knew he couldn't feel the emotions like this before – and he wondered if it was a byproduct from being human, residual, like an aftertaste. "Your family, the Winchesters, all of them."

He wondered if it would last, the shame and guilt, and he wondered if he would ever feel the good things again: the simple joy of talking to Sam about the novel he was reading, the love he felt as Dean ran his hands over his body.

When he nodded – he'd nod forever, agree to anything to save those boys – he felt Michael restoring the sixteen year old flesh and blood boy he had been just a little while ago. His Grace filled up every corner of the body, fitting him much better than he dreamed his true vessel even could.

Michael was gone with a flap of his wings, and Castiel headed back toward Earth with what felt like a heavy heart.

* * *

If flying in his true form was a little clumsy, flying in a vessel was nearly impossible. It didn't require his concentration to not break through the skin and bones, but it felt like he had all this raw power mixed up inside this tiny body. The power wanted to escape – his Grace wanted to be in his true form – and it felt like he was chained to a comet.

He would blame it on being unused to flying, but he had gone sixteen years without flying while he was stationed watching the earth. So instead, he blamed it on the vessel and its limitations when he crashed into the roof of the sanctuary. It didn't hurt when he fell from the roof and crashed into the hard ground; well, he felt a hit to his pride, and then wondered for a moment how he could feel things like pride at all.

It was duller than it had been as a human, muffled, like trying to hear something quiet over the static. But if he focused on it, it became clearer until his embarrassment was burning in him.

As an angel, he had never felt embarrassed. He had never felt shame.

Castiel pushed himself up, standing in the damp grass for a moment before making his way to the sanctuary end of the church. He had a task to do. He could wonder about feelings later.

It was an accident when he blew the doors back as he approached. He had just meant to swing them open casually; instead, they whipped open too fast, hitting hard against the sides of the church.

Likewise, he didn't mean for the lights in the sanctuary to surge, but as he walked up the aisle toward the altar, he passed under three sets of lights. As he got under them, they burned brighter for a split second before the glass shattered and sparks rained down on him.

When he got to the steps before the altar, he paused.

He knew the Winchesters were in the sanctuary – he could see their souls for miles – but he hadn't expected them to be tied up. They were each tied to one of the thrones under the crucifix, and even though Castiel knew he should move to untie them, their souls were distracting.

Their souls were beautiful, bright from a distance and nearly blinding at this range. Dean's especially, although he wasn't sure if that was because it was simply a truly remarkable example of his Father's work or if he was biased, left over from the fondness he had felt for Dean when he was human. Maybe it was a bit of both, and Castiel didn't care either way: Dean had the loveliest soul he'd ever seen before.

And he'd seen many souls when he was stationed, incorporeally, over earth.

When he turned to Sam, the smile he could feel on his lips died away. In response, Sam's grin – which he could see through his soul – melted with unease. His soul was bright – he hadn't expected either of the Winchesters' souls to look so magnificent considering the lives they lead and the horrors they'd seen – but there was something on Sam's. A dark mark, a taint, something Castiel couldn't identify at first.

He narrowed his eyes and looked closer, frowning as he looked back at Sam's face. It was demon's blood. It marked his soul like a scar; it hadn't been something they had just done. This happened a long time ago, when he was still a baby.

"Are you going to let us out, Cas? I swear to God you can tie me up again later if you're into that shit but we've gotta get out of here before the demons come back," Dean said. Castiel wasn't sure if he had been talking the whole time or not, but the angel just nodded and moved forward, placing his foot on the first step of the altar.

The door next to the altar, the one that led back to the Sunday school rooms and the kitchen, opened and the three demons poured in. They must have reclaimed the three humans they had been possessing before, and Castiel wondered if they were dead in there. The demons didn't look panicked, not at first.

The Winchesters must not have told them that he had reclaimed his Grace.

"We knew you couldn't be far," the demon in the priest said. His voice was lower than it used to be, a growl. He had rope in his hand, and he nodded toward Castiel. "Grab him. We'll tie him up then make him watch as we shove demons in his friends. There're a lot of things demons can do to their host, you know. You're going to cooperate or you're going to watch the brothers torture each other until they die from their wounds."

"You're trying to threaten me," Castiel said, tilting his head to look at the demons. He moved his arms, spreading them out at his sides. Lightning crashed outside, even though the storm was over. He felt his wings spread outward, going on memory to the fighting stance that was ingrained in him since he was a fledgling.

The Winchesters gasped and the demons swore. He knew they couldn't see them, but they could see the shadows.

"How are we supposed to kill an angel?" One of the demons asked. He had Dean's shotgun in his hand but he dropped it. The lightning died away, and it sounded unnaturally loud hitting the ground in the silence. "Nobody knows how to kill an angel. Nobody down there's ever talked to an angel."

"Azazel has," The demon in the priest said. "Azazel would know."

"But he's not here now," Castiel said, moving toward the demons.

It was instinct. He had a mission, and his body responded accordingly. The demon in the priest and one of the goons moved away, but Castiel caught the third demon by the arm. He tipped his head back, and black smoke started pouring out of his mouth.

Castiel took his free hand and put it behind the smoke, pushing it back toward the host's mouth. There was a scream, and this time, it wasn't Castiel.

The host took the demon back, and Castiel closed his hand over his mouth. For a second, nothing happened. Then his hand grew warm. The demon's eyes turned white – light shined from his mouth and eyes – and then the demon burned out. The host crumbled onto the ground. Castiel knelt down, feeling for a pulse.

It was faint, and Castiel felt his hand warming again to heal the victim.

"Castiel," the demon inside the priest said. The angel stood, turning to face the altar once again.

The demons were at the Winchesters. The one at Sam had a hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his neck. The knife pressed against his throat was the same one that Sam had held as a weapon when Castiel had left them. Dean's hair was too short to grab hold of it the same way, but the priest had picked up Dean's shotgun from where the other demon dropped it on the floor. It was only filled with salt rounds, but at point blank range, it could do some damage to a human's face.

Which is where the demon was pointing the gun: at Dean's face.

Castiel knew the boys hadn't just sat there. Dean's face was bloody – he had likely been cheeky and put up a fight – and Sam had already cut through half of the rope with a pocketknife. Castiel raised his hands in a quick gesture, helping the boy along until there was almost nothing left to cut through. The younger Winchester's face betrayed nothing, and Castiel wasn't even sure that Sam realized how close to freedom he was.

Until the younger Winchester paused in his glaring at his captor and flashed his eyes to Castiel for a split second; then, Castiel could tell that he knew.

Dean didn't have any sort of dent in the rope, but Castiel could untie it quickly enough from where he was, but doing so might raise more suspicion than the thin cut Sam had needed.

"New plan," the demon in the priest said. "We leave here. We leave the Winchesters and we leave you. You'll let us go in peace."

"Or I could destroy you," Castiel said, drawing his hands together in front of him. His fingers made small movements, working the knots free from across the room. If he was careful and slow, the demons could mistake his movements for fidgeting. The human Castiel had been prone to fidgeting. "How do I know you won't return to harm the Miltons or the Winchesters when I leave you?"

"Aren't you guys supposed to be full of faith? Aren't you supposed to see the good in people and offer second chances or something?"

"We are warriors of God," Castiel growled. The knot loosened, and Dean's eyes flickered from Sam's to Castiel's. He looked surprised, and his shoulders twitched, trying to work his hands free without giving away the movements. "And you are the enemy."

"Then," the priest said. "You can kill us. But we can kill these boys before you reach us. We would be rewarded for that."

Something in Castiel flared to life – something dark and possessive – and he raised his hand. The demon holding Sam flinched, trying to move behind the boy to use him as a shield. Lightning crashed overhead, and there was the unmistakable sound of wood cracking under pressure. The crucifix above the altar – above the Winchesters and the demons – moved, one side sliding down a few inches as it was torn from the wall.

He knew he had a duty to protect the Winchesters, but this was more than that. He was filled with love and fury; he was blinded by his need to save them. The Grace burned in him, and the crucifix made another almighty crack.

"You will not harm my friends," Castiel said, just as the crucifix was torn from the wall and fell.

The demons were looking up, and the Winchesters pulled free. Dean pushed the gun away and the demon fired in surprise, shooting the salt round into the air. Sam was also able to push the demon's arm away while he was distracted. Both of them ran at Castiel, barely jumping off the altar before the crucifix touched down with a bang.

Dust and debris rose on the altar; the crucifix broke through the wood of the platform and the demons spilled into the baptism water below. Steam rose as the demons screamed, thrashing in the holy water, fighting each other to try and get out.

Castiel felt the Winchesters' hands on him – Sam had a hand on his back and Dean was checking him over, making sure he was okay – but Castiel waved them off and moved forward. He pulled the demon closest to him from the water. The flesh was burned, aching sores and steaming skin, but Castiel put a hand to the demon's forehead.

If the screaming in the holy water sounded terrifying, it didn't compare to the sound the demon made as he was burned out. The host slumped in Castiel's arms, and the angel carried him back toward the Winchesters, lying him down and checking him over.

The host wasn't breathing – his heart wasn't beating – and Castiel rested a hand on his chest, frowning. The host had succumbed to his injuries long ago, before the fighting happened tonight, and Castiel wondered how he could get this man's body back to his family when he felt a dull pressure on his back.

The Winchesters were screaming beside him, but Castiel felt no pain. He turned his head – the demon inside the priest was furious and in pain – but the angel couldn't see what was in his back. He reached for it, raising his other hand to reassure the Winchesters, but it was too late for talk. Dean was on the demon before Castiel could stand up, and Sam was right there with him, trying to hold the man down.

It was impossible. The demon was harmed by the holy water but he was still much stronger than two boys without weapons, but their effort was valiant. His gun was lost, submerged in the water, but Dean was tugging spare shells from his pocket. He fumbled for a second before ripping it open, pouring the rock salt into the demon's mouth. The host thrashed against the boys, knocking them to the side.

Castiel moved in while the demon was still on his back. With a press of his fingers, the demon's eyes and mouth glowed until the final demon was burned out of the priest.

"Jesus Christ, Cas!" Dean yelled from behind him. The angel turned to face him and stood, but Dean's hands were on him in a second, turning him away, examining his back.

"It's buried in there deep," Sam said. Castiel felt the movement of muscles when Sam touched the knife. He knew if he had been human it would have killed him, knew it should hurt – that he should be screaming with pain – but he felt nothing except for a small amount of pressure. "If we pull it out he's going to bleed to death."

"We have to get you to the hospital, man," Dean said, squeezing Castiel's shoulder, voice frantic.

"Knives don't hurt me anymore," Castiel said, shrugging. "Just pull it out. I'll heal my vessel."

"Your vessel?" Dean asked, but Castiel turned to look behind him. Sam was the one who gripped the handle and pulled. The blade was coated in blood – the blood that used to be Castiel's human life – and the angel drew his hands to his shoulders and tugged up the clothes the human Castiel had been wearing, revealing his back to the Winchesters.

He could feel the Grace knotting the flesh back together. There wasn't a person in his vessel – he wasn't sharing this body with a soul who had given him permission to use his body – but if Castiel vacated, the body would survive.

"Whoa," Sam said.

"My Grace destroyed my former body when I accepted it back in," Castiel said, lowering his shirt and turning to face the Winchesters. "My brother Michael remade this body for me so I could help you."

"You've got brothers now?" Dean asked. "Other angels?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "Many."

"That sucks," Sam grinned. "Brothers are a pain in the ass."

Dean frowned, gave Sam a halfhearted growl, and pulled him in. He ran his knuckles over his little brother's scalp as he held his head still, and Sam laughed. It was something the brothers did a few times in the human Castiel's presence, and Castiel felt himself frowning.

He could remember every moment of being a human, every moment of being an angel, and not once did his brothers show affection like that. Occasionally – very rarely and only when necessary – they would groom each other's wings. He hadn't been able to feel it, other than a faint pressure. Anna, he remembered, had been gentle as she smoothed his rough feathers. He didn't know it at the time, but he loved Anna; she was one of his favorite sisters.

And Balthazar. Castiel could remember Balthazar's wide smiles as he pointed out some human doing something he found particularly strange. He remembered what it felt like when they stood on watch together, looking out over the land, the tips of their wings touching. It didn't feel like comfort then, but through his human emotions, he felt it now.

But Anna and Balthazar, they had never held him. They fought with him – they would die for him – but they couldn't love him. Not like the Winchesters loved each other.

And then he thought about the second thing Michael had asked him to do. The Winchesters were already spreading out, collecting their weapons and refilling their backpacks and duffle bag, chatting happily with each other. They were reliving the past hour to each other, already letting their mythical hyperboles ring true over the facts.

Castiel pulled Dean's gun from the water, fixed the water damage, and passed it to his friend.

The angel listened for a moment, privately pleased when he heard Dean say, "Then, boom, Castiel showed up like a badass…" and throw a soft smile in his direction. It filled his heart, watching Dean's private smile, and Castiel could see everything swimming around in his soul. He was worried, fearful; he was sure Castiel was going to leave them now. But he was hopeful – God, was Dean's hope beautiful – and he wanted nothing more than for Castiel to stay with them.

The muscles on his face seemed tight when he pulled them into a forced smile. It was enough to reassure his friend, and Dean went back to gathering his things. Castiel raised his hand. He fixed the crucifix and hung it back on the wall before he fixed the platform over the baptism pool as well. When everything was back in place – except for the two unconscious souls and the dead body on the floor – he looked back at his friends.

They were grinning at him, and despite the horrors Castiel knew that they had seen – what had happened to their mother and what their father had dragged them through since then – they looked happy, giddy, like children their ages.

Castiel licked his lips and looked away. He knew what he had to do, but he couldn't do it here.

"Perhaps we should go back to the motel? Your father must be worried."

"Or drunk," Dean said, frowning, and the lightness bled from him. They would be in trouble. Castiel could tell from their sudden change; they were afraid of their father. "But I guess we've got a pretty good excuse. He might even be proud of us."

Castiel couldn't help but look at the shared glance between the brothers. Neither of them believed Dean's words.

"Do you want me to fly you there or should we walk?"

Dean frowned and Sam grinned, but it was the older one who spoke first. "Might as well enjoy our last few moments before the shit hits the fan by making them last, right? Plus it's not raining anymore."

"Fine," Sam said. "But we totally should fly sometime. If that's okay with you, Cas?"

"Sure, Sam," Castiel said, but his heart was heavy with it. He opened the door and led the Winchesters through the church and back toward the motel.

* * *

At the parking lot in front of the motel, Castiel and the Winchesters stopped. The boys' eyes drew to the black Impala, and Castiel could feel their fear. He could imagine how the human he used to be would be terrified, not just of the alcoholic man in the room, but of everything. Castiel would have been afraid of the way the light flickered in the _"e"_ of the motel sign, the way the corn was blowing in the breeze, the complete stillness of the abandoned houses. The lights in the rooms were off – all except number three – and he knew that Castiel would have been shaking, trembling with fear at the idea of meeting John Winchester.

Instead, the angel felt resolute, righteous even. John Winchester's sons had risked their lives to save him from three demons. Their souls were bright, despite their terrible upbringing, and any father should be proud of sons as brave as the Winchesters.

His Winchesters.

Castiel placed a sure hand on Sam's shoulder, slipping his other hand into Dean's, and squeezed both of them. Both of the Winchesters turned to look at him, but Castiel kept his grip strong, reassuring, and he nodded before letting go.

The Winchesters nodded back, and Castiel led the way to door number three.

The door wasn't locked, but when he pushed it in, he noticed that there was salt on the floor. When he looked up, John was pushing himself up on unsteady feet from where he had been sitting on Dean's bed. The gun that had been lying on his lap was half-raised before the Winchesters burst into the room around Castiel, raising their hands, palms up, to keep him from firing.

John narrowed his eyes and kept the gun pointing at his sons. "Prove it."

"We just passed over a salt line," Sam said, and Castiel could hear the eye-roll in his voice.

But Dean was dutiful, pulling out one of the iron knives and pushing up his sleeves. John didn't try to stop him, not even when he lowered the blade to the inside of his forearm. Castiel realized Dean meant to cut himself a moment too late, when a small wound was made and started spilling forth. He reached forward, trying to wrap his fingers around Dean's forearm to heal him, but his friend pulled away, flushing with embarrassment.

His soul was screaming out an apology, so Castiel dropped his hand and glared at the man. John Winchester didn't lower his guns, but used it to gesture to the side, trying to get the boys to step away from Castiel. The younger Winchesters didn't move, and John growled, "Who is that?"

"It's my friend," Dean said, glaring at Sam when his brother snorted. "He's an…"

"You fucking left your brother alone to go hang out with your little _friend_, Dean?" John hissed, taking a step closer to the boys. He lowered the gun, but Castiel moved closer too. The safety was still on – he could see that – but any man who would ask his teenage son to cut himself to prove his identity was unstable and dangerous. He could intervene before a tragic accident happened.

"No, Dad. The three of us spent the night at Cas' house. It was fine, we did the salt and…" Sam started, but he was cut off.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, boy," John yelled, gesturing with the gun once again. "Why the fuck would you be coming back here at three in the morning if you spent the night with some normal kid?"

"Dean got scared," Sam said, and Dean hissed at him to be quiet.

"You shut up, you mouthy little shit. And you, fucking you, what the fuck did I tell you about leaving here. I said go to school and come right back here. I didn't say that you could make play dates and have slumber parties, you little…"

"Dad," Sam yelled over top of him, but John was moving again. It only took four strides for him to get within reaching distance of Dean, but Castiel pushed past his friend. He blocked John's direct line to Dean. John was furious.

"Who do you think you are?" He yelled. Even an arm's distance away he smelled toxic, like he had bathed in whiskey. Castiel narrowed his eyes at him.

"I am Castiel," he said, raising his hand and extending two fingers toward John Winchester. "And I am an angel of the Lord."

When his fingers made contact with John's forehead, the man's eyes shut and he slumped gracelessly to the ground. Castiel let him fall – didn't ease his decent – and then he stepped over the unconscious body and made his way into the motel room. He dropped the backpack filled with the things human Castiel had packed and took off the sleeping bag, opening the top of it and pulling all of the contents out. He heard the door shut behind him, and expected the Winchesters to huddle on the ground next to their father.

Instead, Dean joined him by his side as Sam crossed over to his own bed and threw himself down with an exhausted sigh. For a second or two, they were quiet before Dean touched his shoulder against Castiel's and asked, "He's okay, right?"

"No," Castiel said. "He is way past the legal limit, and he's killing his liver. Not to mention the fact that he pointed a gun at you and said those things, and…"

"I mean… he's not dead, right?"

"No, Dean," Castiel frowned, looking down at his earthly possessions. "He's just sleeping."

"Well, I'm not sharing my bed," Sam said.

Dean just shrugged. "He's fine where he is. I grabbed his gun. Let him wake up with a backache, bastard."

"I blocked the past few hours from him as well. He will only remember getting home, seeing you in bed, and having a few drinks. You don't have to worry about any repercussions in the morning."

For a long moment, they were quiet again. Sam had a his arm over his eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly at first, but as the stress dissipated, his breathing returned to normal and grew shallow just a bit from there. Castiel would have thought he was sleeping but he could see his soul now. He knew he wasn't quite there yet, but he would be soon.

At his side, he felt Dean shift. Then, there was a tentative hand on his arm. When he didn't pull it away, Dean trailed it down his coat until they were palm-to-palm with their fingers threaded together. Castiel's heart ached.

Looking down at all his stuff, Castiel wanted to choose two things. The first was easy; it was a book he had thrown in just in case he couldn't sleep. It was an old copy of _The Wizard of Oz_ that he had gotten cheap at a yard sale. Anna thought that it might have some value, but it didn't. Well, it didn't have monetary value. Once, when Castiel was a human child he had gotten really sick and had to miss school for a week. This book brought him comfort as he was secluded to his bed. He picked it up and moved it to the side before looking back over his stuff, trying to choose a second object.

But his eyes found the other book he had packed, his beloved copy of _Cat's Cradle_, and he held it up and showed the cover to Dean. "Have you ever read this?"

Dean shook his head, drawing Castiel's hand to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss against the back of it. "I've heard good things about Vonnegut, though."

"You would love it," Castiel reassured him, a soft smile on his face. "You would love his writing."

"I'll look into it, but not tonight," Dean said. "Let's pack up your stuff. Your mom's not expecting you until morning. Well, actually. She's not… well, you know what I mean. You'll have to tell her that you're going. We can get a little shut eye before we somehow drop the angel bomb on her. You're… you're going back to your real home now, right? Like Heaven? Is it okay to stay the night here?"

"I…" Castiel said, placing the book on top of _The Wizard of Oz_, then turned to look at his friend. He hadn't needed to look to see what Dean was feeling; he could feel it radiating from his soul. He was uncertain, scared. There was something so powerful in there, and Castiel was sure he knew what it was, but it hurt to think about. Dean's eyes were pleading; he was desperate. And Castiel couldn't deny him anything. Not really. "I can stay."

The grin Dean shot him was magnificent, blinding. His soul was so beautiful. And Dean leaned forward, capturing Castiel's lower lip in his mouth like they had been lovers for centuries and not just hours. It felt timeless to Castiel, pure and perfect. But before anything could progress further, Dean drew back. And that was it.

Their hands broke apart so Castiel could move the two books to the stand, and Dean helped him scoop the stuff from the bed back into the backpack.

For an awkward moment, Castiel tried climbing back into bed, but Dean laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. The hunter started pulling off his clothes right there in the middle of the room – between an unconscious brother on the bed fully dressed next to him and an unconscious father crumpled on the floor by the door – and Castiel was surprised that he could feel such heat rising in his body.

When Dean kicked off his pants and stood in the motel room in just his underwear, he opened his arms and said, "You've seen me in less, Cas."

"Not since…" Castiel started, but it had only been a few hours. Angels didn't blush. He had never seen an angel blush before, but he was burning now. The reactions were the same as they had been when he was human, especially this close to the man he had recently been so intimate with. Instead of finishing his sentence, he willed his clothes off. In a blink of an eye, his clothes were neatly folded next to the books on the TV stand and Castiel was standing in just his underwear too.

"Neat trick," Dean laughed, crawling under the covers and holding them up for Castiel to join him. And Castiel did. He sat down and inched his way closer until his bare skin was touching Dean's. Castiel had never taken a vessel before – it had been banned for a long time, since before Castiel was stationed on Earth – but he had expected that it would have acted as a buffer. When he was stabbed, he felt nothing. But he felt every touch of their skin as intensely as he had when he was human.

Perhaps it was because this vessel had been his body once; Castiel didn't know.

The only thing he knew was that Dean's soul was warm, and his Grace wanted nothing more than to hold Dean – to protect him, to worship him, to love him – forever.

He knew it was treason – he was disobeying again already – but he couldn't help what he wanted.

And Castiel held Dean for fifteen minutes until he felt his heartbeat and breathing grow steady and he knew he was asleep. And Castiel held Dean for another forty-five minutes because he knew what he had to do – that he _couldn't_ disobey again, not when Michael said that Castiel was needed. Michael said he was part of the divine plan for the Winchesters, that they would need him later.

He would give up now to keep them safe later.

When he felt Dean slip into a deep, slow-wave sleep, he knew he wouldn't wake up as easily, so he drew the covers away and untangled himself from his friend's body. There was an ache in his heart worse than he ever felt as a human, but as he pulled himself from the bed and tucked Dean back in, he knew it was for the best.

Michael said the Winchesters would need him. But he had met them too soon. To help them in the future, they couldn't remember him now. Castiel willed his clothes back on before leaning over the bed.

He moved on to Sam, and as he pressed his fingers against the boy's warm flesh of his forehead, saying goodbye, he wondered if he could take the taint from his soul. He didn't think he possessed enough power for that anyway, but he didn't dare try.

They would need him, and he couldn't be with them now. He needed to return to his post, Michael had said.

When Castiel drew away from Sam, he turned back to the TV. There were tears in his eyes when he gathered the books and placed _The Wizard of Oz_ in the bottom of Sam's backpack. He held _Cat's Cradle_ against his chest, kneeling on the floor at the foot of Dean's bed. It didn't feel like enough. Dean Winchester was the reason he had fallen. He had only wanted to experience everything that Dean had gave him in just one short human month.

He could never be able to repay him for that.

Castiel did leave the book in Dean's duffle bag, but not before he added one last thing to it.

His work was only just beginning. He had to erase every trace that a human named Castiel Milton once lived. He had to move Anna and his parents somewhere else, somewhere safe. He had to suppress the memories of everyone he had ever met and anyone who had ever heard of him.

It was the only way to keep his family safe and sane; he knew if he just left them, his parents would never rest until he was found.

It didn't take long, but it felt like the longest night of Castiel's life.

* * *

After he was finished, dawn was breaking over the East coast of the United States. Castiel remained in a slow flight over the country.

Rich, Amy, and Anna Milton were settled in Indiana with no memory of ever having a second child in the family. Castiel brought his body to a childless couple and altered everyone's memory in the small town of Pontiac, Illinois to make sure they remembered James Novak. He gave the soulless body a lifetime of memories, set him on the path of being a good, untroubled boy, and watched the sun come up incorporeally as he flew above his handy work.

He watched as the Winchesters woke up in the motel, groggy and snippy, morphing into hurt and rage when they realized Castiel wasn't there. He watched as the boys tried to help John up and into the bed without waking him, which was only possible because he was still knocked out from Castiel the night before.

Sam won the fight for the first shower, but only because Dean hadn't tried to fight him. He had collapsed on Sam's bed – as John was now occupying his – and buried his face in his brother's pillow, trying his hardest to ignore his brother. It hurt Castiel to watch.

He watched Sam discover the book, and he had never seen Dean move so quickly. The hunter jumped out of bed, foot getting tangled in the blankets, and he stumbled to the end of his bed. He practically ripped his bag open, pulling out clothes and guns to reach the book.

Sam laughed at him, left the book on his bed, and shut himself into the bathroom.

Dean sat on Sam's bed and opened the novel. When the feather fell out onto his lap, Castiel was sure that Dean would throw it away. He could feel Dean's rage, his hurt, his disappointment, but he didn't throw it away. And he couldn't help but smile when Dean held the delicate feather like it was something precious, something secret, and when he heard the water shut off from the bathroom, he hid it in his novel once again.

But he did raise his face to the ceiling, confusion painted over his features.

When Sam walked out of the bathroom, Dean lowered his head and didn't raise it again.

"You did very well, Castiel," a voice echoed from behind him, and Castiel didn't need to turn his head to know who it was.

Castiel felt Dean's loss like it was his own – it ripped through his Grace – and he longed to return to Dean's side.

"How long until they need me?"

"A while still. But in 2008, you will be reunited," Michael said, and Castiel sighed. He didn't realize how human it sounded until Michael frowned at him. Castiel straightened up and tried to hide the feelings that were still raking through his body. He would be in far more trouble than he already was if Michael realized Castiel could still feel like a human. It would compromise him. It would compromise his effectiveness as a warrior of God. "Sam and Dean Winchester might be the two most important humans to walk the earth since Jesus himself."

"Why are they so important?" Castiel asked, turning to face his brother. "How is that possible? They're just brothers – a set of hunters growing up in subpar conditions – one of them is infected with demon blood, yes, but how can they be so important to this divine plan? And if they are, why did you allow their mother to die? Why do you let Dean run around faithless? Why do you let John Winchester…?"

"Dear me, Castiel," Michael frowned. "Such questions from you. We are angels, brother. We do not question the Divine Plan. We accept it, and that is that."

"I… uh, yes, Michael," Castiel frowned, returning his gaze to the earth.

"There is just one thing left for you to do before you can re-enter Heaven as one of us, Castiel," Michael said from behind him. "We have altered the memories of the angels, so none of them will remember your desertion; however, for documentation purposes, you must tell Naomi why you ripped out your Grace. It is protocol. We just don't want any other angel growing dissatisfied and disobeying. As you recall, the typical punishment for disobeying is death. We are making an exception for you and you alone, and just this one time. Do you understand?"

Castiel frowned. The sadness, the longing to return to earth as a human again was strong, but he couldn't fall again. He had a purpose, a mission, a cause he believed in and he was going to serve it. He would do what was required of him to help the Winchesters, and he needed his power to be of use to them.

But he couldn't say that; he couldn't act offended. Angels didn't get offended. Instead, he raised his chin and tried to push his emotions down. He needed to hide them. If he couldn't hide them, he knew he would be punished. "I understand."

"When you are done with Naomi," Michael said. "You may return to your post and watch humanity from afar."

Michael took off before Castiel did, but Castiel appeared in Naomi's office a second later. Her office was white, and Castiel frowned. Even before he was human, back when he had been an angel with no feelings, he had taken some small pleasure from colors. He had enjoyed – as much as a creature without real emotions could – watching the sunrises and sunsets over the earth; he would bask in the colors as it was a beautiful testament of his father's creation.

Naomi's office was white and a cold, silvery metal. It wasn't exactly the most inviting room he had ever walked into before.

"Castiel," Naomi said, not looking surprised at all to see him. Michael must have warned her ahead of time. His sister gestured to one of the chairs. "Please, take a seat."

Castiel obeyed. It wasn't like he had the option not to.

Naomi stood as Castiel sat. Her hands were behind her back, and as she walked forward, Castiel couldn't help but remember that she felt nothing, that she had never felt anything. She had never felt lips on her lips, never felt a hand run over her back for the sole purpose of touching the flesh. She had never fallen asleep, let alone wrapped around the warm body of someone she cared for, and Castiel felt himself grow heavy at the thought of it.

He pitied her. He pitied all of his brothers and sisters who had never felt anything before. He felt sad for them.

Naomi didn't ask Castiel why he fell. She was behind him, pacing back and forth, not speaking to him. When she finally stepped around the chair to the front of him, she had a small, metallic object in her hand.

For the first time since he had become an angel, Castiel felt afraid.

"Now, now," she said. "Don't worry about it, Castiel. You've been here before – actually, you're here more than anyone else – and I know how to fix you up again. I can't believe you managed to get ahead of us the last time, though. We've always been so good at catching you before you fell. But that's okay," She smiled at him and raised the instrument. It buzzed in her hand like a dentist's drill, and Castiel tried to move away. He was rooted to the spot; even as he struggled, he couldn't escape. "We'll have you fixed up again in no time."

With a flap of wings, Michael appeared next to Naomi. "You haven't finished yet, sister?" He asked. "I've already wiped both of the Winchester kids memories, you've gotten slow."

"Hush, brother," Naomi smiled. "Anything worth doing is worth doing right."

Castiel screamed – he heard it echoing all over Naomi's office – and then, nothing.

Everything went black.

* * *

When Castiel woke up, he tried taking a deep breath in. He didn't have lungs, didn't require breath, and as he sat up, examining his Grace, he couldn't figure out why his first instinct had been to breathe.

Castiel had never breathed before in his life.

The Rit Zien in the corner of the medical ward looked up at him and frowned. Castiel frowned too. He had no memory of recent battle and had no idea how the Rit Zien could hone in on his pain if he hadn't been in pain for thousands of years. Either way, Ephraim moved closer to Castiel, sitting down at the edge of the bed next to his brother.

Castiel had a desire to settle back down into the soft material, but he frowned. Under the blanket, he ran his hand over the cotton. It was soft, and he lifted his eyes, moving his hands to rest over the blankets.

That must have been a hell of an injury.

"Demons found your outpost," Ephraim explained. "I wasn't the one who found you, but I've been watching over you since you were brought here. I don't know how the demons found you or why they would attack. It was touch-and-go for a while. Your injuries were substantial but you were strong and you fought to live."

"How long ago was that?" Castiel asked, tossing the blanket back off of him. Why would they have blankets in an angel ward? Why would they have comfortable beds? They couldn't feel these things; they couldn't experience pleasures like humans could. But Castiel… he _felt_ it.

"Not long at all," Ephraim offered Castiel a smile. "Sixteen earth years. You've always been a remarkable healer. It only took half a century last time, I believe."

"Sixteen years," Castiel said, tasting the time frame in his mouth. It was a short amount of time – nearly a blink of an eye for angels – especially ones significantly wounded in battle. After Lucifer fell, the angels who weren't given a quick and merciful death spent centuries recovering. But something about sixteen years seemed out of place. Sixteen earth years were nothing, but something made him feel like those years were everything. He felt like he was missing something important, but when he looked up at his brother, he was nodding happily.

"Yes, just sixteen years," Ephraim said again. "And rumor has it they were boring years on earth. Balthazar came to see you a few times and he said that humans have put computers in their home now and connect them all through a shared brainwave, much like how we communicate and share information. It seemed very exciting."

"I missed it," Castiel said, but Ephraim patted Castiel's shoulder.

And Castiel _felt_ it. He felt his brother's warm hand, and the soft, comforting weight of it. It wasn't just pressure; it felt like his shoulder was attached to his body with nerves that were hypersensitive to touch, just like a human's.

"It wasn't much. You missed Columbus claiming the New World, and the Spanish Inquisition last time. That seemed far more significant in the long run than computers," Ephraim said, standing back up. He gestured toward the door. "Well, now that you're awake, you're free to rejoin your post. Try to stay away from demons this time, brother. I would hate for something to happen to you."

"Why?" Castiel asked before he could stop himself.

Ephraim didn't look as bewildered by the question as Castiel expected him to. Instead, he just grinned. "You're a great warrior and an amazing tactician. We medics, we don't understand war, but you… You are awe-inspiring. Just you wait. You'll be leading a brilliant charge into battle before you know it, and you'll understand what I mean when you lead us to victory."

Castiel stood and shook his head. "There hasn't been a true battle in a long time, brother. I doubt there will be one soon."

The Rit Zien's eyes grew wider, and he moved closer to Castiel, talking in a quiet, rushed voice. "We hear whispers here, Castiel. Michael has told us to prepare for a great battle, something large. Something apocalyptic. And when you were brought to us, Michael said we needed to get you healed as quickly as possible. You're in charge of your Garrison, and we're not stupid. You're going to be the one who leads us in this upcoming battle. And we believe in you."

When Ephraim moved away again, Castiel left the medical wing and flew back to his post over the United States. Balthazar greeted him kindly, and Uriel seemed well enough. And although Castiel was happy to see him – actually happy, he actually felt that – he couldn't help but look down over his charges and frown.

Sixteen years and humans had telepathic machines in their houses. Sixteen years and AIDS had wreaked havoc on their population, drugs run rampant, murders went unsolved. And still, the angels wouldn't intervene. They wouldn't help the humans; they would only watch.

So Castiel watched.

He watched the dark souls, the witches who worked with demons or the desperate who signed their souls to hell if they were given ten years with something they desired, and he watched the virtuous. He watched the handful of tainted children – it was something they had noticed right before Castiel had gotten injured, but nothing they stopped from happening – and it was when he was checking on those children, tainted with demon blood, that he found something.

Two bright souls, a set of brothers, were separated by distance. The younger one was twelve – soul so bright that the demon's blood was hard to even see – was in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The older one was sixteen – and Castiel was pained by how beautiful his soul was – living on a farm in Upstate New York.

When Castiel found him, the soul was happy. The boy was kissing a girl, and Castiel watched as she teased him about whether or not he'd ever kissed a girl before. Something sparked in Castiel, something fierce, but something he couldn't quite name, and he pulled away from the beautiful, flustered soul, when Dean insisted that he had.

He tried not to watch the Winchesters more than he watched any other set of humans, but it was hard. His attention was constantly drawn to them. He watched as Sam stood up to a bully and felt a little bit of shame and a little bit of pride. The shame came from Sam, the pride from Dean, but Castiel felt both. That night, Sam was upset about beating up the bully, and Castiel wished he could comfort him.

He watched as Dean entered high school after high school, picking up girl after girl, and it enraged him. And once, Castiel almost stepped in to save the boy when, a few days after his eighteenth birthday, he picked up a guy in a club and the guy held Dean's head down until he choked.

Castiel had never really felt rage before his accident with the demons, not even when rage would have been an acceptable response. If Dean hadn't punched the guy and kept punching, screams of _"I told you not to. I'm not into choking on it, you bastard,"_ Castiel would have smote the bastard.

Somehow, deep down, as he watched Dean stalk away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and drying his eyes on his shirt, he knew that Dean had been lying. He knew Dean had said that he didn't hate choking, that it could be scary but not if he trusted the person not to choke him to death.

He knew he had heard Dean say, _"But, I trust you. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose."_ But he couldn't remember when he had heard it. He couldn't remember the boy Dean had said it to. In the end, Castiel trailed Dean back to his hotel room and made sure he was sleeping before he left. He ended up flying clear to the other coast before rejoining his brothers and sisters on watch. He always tried to hide it when he was watching the Winchesters.

And they were stressful. Every fight between Sam and John left Castiel heartbroken. When John eventually gave Sam an ultimatum and Sam left for Stanford anyway, he wanted to comfort the boy as he cried on the bus. He wanted to comfort Dean – who was sick with his own shame at not standing up for Sam – and crawled into a bottle for a week after his brother left.

He wanted to hurt John Winchester for the way he treated his boys.

And it was then, with the boys separated again, that Castiel realized he needed more humans to focus on. He was getting too close to the humans in his charge, and he was desperate to find somebody else – somebody less stressful, he hoped – and he quickly found another boy to watch over.

His name was Jimmy, and he was a good child. Eighteen now, he was in college and dating a girl named Amelia. Of course, Castiel couldn't pick the easiest of humans to watch over, and he was drawn to Jimmy because of something he was lacking: a soul.

Very few humans didn't have a soul, and none of them were as well-adjusted as Jimmy. He spent many hours watching the boy sing with his church choir before he realized that Jimmy was his true vessel, and the realization dawned on him so suddenly he couldn't believe the thought ever entered his head.

But Castiel could see himself there, inside Jimmy's body, just as he could imagine himself flying overhead. He could imagine himself finding the Winchesters in Jimmy's body. He could imagine meeting them, hiding the fact that he had been watching them.

He could imagine Dean looking up at him as he wore Jimmy's body with that confident grin on his face. He could imagine Dean saying, _"Wanna make me choke on it? I trust you. I still want to, you know, _do stuff_ with you, Cas."_

Castiel stopped visiting Jimmy after that, too.

He found a fourth person to watch over. He specifically chose a girl this time – fearing how he seemed to think of the male humans he watched over – but it wasn't much better. It was a redhead, a journalism major in college, and Castiel had watched her for all of ten minutes before he realized it was Anna.

His sister Anna. She had been in charge of their garrison before she fell.

He knew protocol – she had a metaphorical price on her head for disobeying – and Castiel knew that he had to tell someone higher up immediately. She needed to be killed for her disobedience.

Instead, Castiel flew far away from Anna and never visited her again. It was safer that way. She could hide from him, hide from the angels, and have the human life she had so wanted. Castiel owed her that, but he didn't know why.

Humans were frustrating, especially now that he could feel with them.

When Dean fell in love with Cassie, it hurt him beyond his imagination, but he was happy for Dean, too. For once, Dean had something nice and sure, it didn't last – nothing did with Dean Winchester – but for that brief time, Dean was happy.

When Sam Winchester met Jessica Moore, Castiel loved her too, just as he had come to love the Winchester boy as a younger brother of his own. Jessica Moore was like a younger sister to Castiel, one he wished he could protect at any cost.

When Jimmy had sex for the first time with Amelia, the night they got married, Castiel could somehow feel it. Not in a literal sense – nothing like that – but he could almost _remember_ how it had felt to be close to someone, intimate. He could almost remember what it felt like being held or thrusting into a body that accepted and enjoyed him.

He could put himself in Jimmy's shoes, and he felt happy when Amelia wrapped her arm around Jimmy's stomach and held him while they slept their first night together as a married couple.

Castiel could never get married nor have children, but his vessel could. He wanted nothing but the best for him.

Not long after this joyous occasion, a string of tragic years happened.

They were all on high alert because something was happening with the demons. It started with the day Jessica Moore was found pinned to the ceiling, bursting into flame. Sam and Dean were reunited – something Castiel had been longing to see for years – but under tragic circumstances. They were looking for their father, unaware how much better off they were without him, and when the car accident happened, Castiel was there.

He remained invisible – if he showed himself to the humans he would burn out their eyes – but he was tormented. Dean was lying there dying, a reaper was after him, and he couldn't let his friend die.

Castiel was just about ready to get his vessel when John summoned Azazel and sacrificed himself. There were murmurs then, of a demon plot. Of how important John Winchester was to the demons. There was talk, initially, of intervention.

Michael even called a meeting, but preached inaction. There was a war coming, he admitted, but it was not upon them yet. As Castiel went back to his post, he couldn't shake the look Michael had given him. He didn't know why – the pair of them rarely spoke – and it unsettled Castiel.

The angels were constantly focused on demon movement now, and when Sam and the other kids started having their demonic powers manifest, he couldn't help but grow uneasy. The hardest moment of his entire life was when Jake's knife was buried in Sam's back. He was there – his whole garrison had been watching the death match like it was some archaic gladiator game – and he knew he couldn't show any reaction as Dean rushed to Sam and the taller Winchester crumpled to the ground.

He could show nothing as Dean wept, and Sam died. He could show nothing.

But when the angels followed Jake and Azazel, Castiel slipped away and went back to the Winchesters. It was too late; Dean was already kissing the demon, sealing his deal.

In one year, Dean Winchester would go to hell, and there was nothing Castiel could do about it.

The brothers managed to kill Azazel – a very small consolation – and free their father from hell. He was welcomed to heaven like a hero, but not by Castiel. He never once visited him.

One year later, the angels had somewhat forgotten about the Winchesters. None of them had cared that Dean had sold his soul to save his brother, and Castiel didn't have to hold back in front of his siblings as he watched Dean die.

He had never slipped up. He had never shown explicit emotion in front of his family, and he never intervened – not once – since he started feeling everything humanity did. But the night Dean was ripped apart by hellhounds, he couldn't help himself.

With tears in his eyes, he ordered the hellhound to kill Dean quickly, to stop playing and just kill him. The hellhounds had never seen an angel before and when Castiel demonstrated what he could do by snapping the bones in one of the hound's paw with a thought, they obeyed.

Dean suffered, but he could have suffered more.

And when Dean was finally gone, Castiel watched his soul embark to hell, and he cried out. Nothing as beautiful as Dean's soul deserved to be tortured, ripped apart in hell. The lights flickered and burst with Castiel's pain. Lilith tried to murder Sam was well, but her powers had no effect on him and she ran. As Sam cried over Dean's body, Castiel moved to Sam – invisible, of course, to the younger man – and put his hand on him.

He took some of Sam's pain away, but not enough. And he helped – subtly, in a small ways where he could get away with it – as Bobby helped Sam bury his brother. By the time Castiel left the younger Winchester to rejoin his brothers, Michael had called another meeting.

It was a rally – all of heaven's strongest warriors were standing in Heaven – and Michael stood on a podium.

"Dean Winchester has gone to hell, and as some of you have heard, war is coming. We have just discovered that Dean Winchester is the righteous man, and if the righteous man tortures another soul in hell, it is the first seal to breaking open Lucifer's cage," Michael was a convincing speaker. There was a reason why he was in charge of the angels. "We must send some angels into hell to rescue him, so…"

"I will," Castiel said, pushing his brothers aside to make his way to Michael at the front of the room. "I will save Dean Winchester."

Many of the angels cheered, and for the first time, he thought back to what Ephraim had said when he had just woken up from his accident. He had mentioned that the angels believed in him, how he would be the one to lead them through the apocalypse. Although he tried not to feel in front of his brothers and sisters – he tried to shut it off in fear of what they would do to an angel who could experience the array of human emotions – he couldn't help the warmth spreading through him now.

They believed in him. They thought he could rescue Dean from hell, and Castiel turned to look at Michael, encouraged by their support.

Michael had a curious look on his face – not necessarily displeased, but not really happy either – and his head was tilted to the side, studying Castiel. He and Raphael were the only archangels left, but they were strong, fierce, and absolute. The things they could tell about people or other angels just by looking at them was astounding, and Castiel tried to remain blank.

_This is my duty_, Castiel thought, trying to project the thoughts over his hidden pleasure that Dean Winchester could be saved. That he could be the one who saved him, after watching him so long. That beautiful soul… Castiel could be the one who fought for it and freed it, saving it just like he always wanted to.

He wasn't sure if he fooled Michael, but either way his brother raised a hand and the crowd of angels grew silent. "And now who would like to accompany Castiel on this rescue mission?"

Castiel rushed his troops into leaving. Although he would never admit it, his primary concern was rescuing Dean. He couldn't be held responsible if his brothers and sisters forgot how to fight in the past few thousand years. All he needed was to reach that glowing beacon and wrap his hands around it. If he could make it out with Dean intact, it would be worth any of the lost lives.

Even if it was his own life lost, Castiel knew it would be worth it if Dean was safe.

They left within a handful of hours, but Hell was not the easiest place to get into, nor was it the most organized once they were in. Ever since Castiel's accident, he had an amazing sense of human time. It took a month of fighting to break the gate into hell, and it didn't get easier from there.

Demons outnumbered the angels by a significant margin. Like a zombie horde, they were able to use quantity to overtake the quality. It was harder to fight thirty fresh demons than it was to fight two highly skilled ones, and the demons were well aware of that. Before Lucifer had been locked in the cage, he had told a handful of demons about angels. The higher-ups like Lilith and Alistair knew enough about angels and human army tactics to know that guerrilla warfare was a decent way to fight against a more advanced army, and they seemed to know Castiel was the one in charge.

He was always swamped with them. And for two months, the angels barely moved forward at all. In hell, time was different. The three months that had passed on the human world seemed like thirty years in hell, and the moment that Dean Winchester first picked up the knife in hell was something all the angels felt.

The demons celebrated, and Castiel's troops knew that all was lost, that they had failed in their mission. There were talks of peace – of how the demons would let the angels go back the way they came if they promised to never attack hell again – but Castiel wouldn't hear of it.

Castiel could see Dean's soul. Castiel could tell that Dean liked the torturing, and he knew demons were made by torturing other souls, not by being tortured. And he needed to save him. He would save Dean Winchester if it killed him, even if he had to go it alone.

Luckily, the disgruntled angels offered Castiel a cover. Knowing that the angels – well, most of the angels – were only interested in saving the first seal, they didn't keep Dean under strict lock and key anymore. Every morning, they would hand him a knife and he was free to move about hell. There was no escape, after all, not without an actual rescue, and by the time the souls took up carving themselves, they didn't exactly think rationally about leaving anyway.

Hell was toxic. They only thought about carving up others.

It was while the angels and the demons were screaming at each other that Castiel slipped away. Dean was in the same room where he had been tortured every day for thirty years, carving up a mother of two who sold her soul to get rid of her abusive husband. He wasn't really that far away. Dean was whistling – Castiel could hear _In The Hall of the Mountain King_ echoing through the corridors – while he worked.

Castiel flew.

By the time the demons realized what he was doing, he was already past them and barreling toward Dean.

Demons reached for him as he flew overhead, but even if they could reach him, they had nothing that could truly hurt him. That was the reason they had been fighting for so long; angels can only be killed by a handful of things and if Lucifer ever told Lilith what those things were, she wasn't applying that knowledge at the battle.

Castiel reached Dean in seconds without hordes of demons attacking him, and when he burst into the door, the older Winchester turned around to look at him.

Already, Dean was twisting. Some of his features were trying to distort like a demon, but his soul – Dean's precious, beautiful soul – was still shining bright. When Castiel took a step toward it, Dean raised his blade and growled, but Castiel didn't fight his way here to leave him behind.

He could explain it to him later. Once Dean was safe, Castiel could talk to him, tell him how amazing and worthwhile he was – that he was a loving brother, a dear friend, an expert hunter – and he could tell him how important he was to stopping the apocalypse.

Just because one seal was broken didn't mean that sixty-five more had to be.

Dean could help save them. Dean and Sam and Castiel – the three of them – could save the world.

But right now, Dean snarled at him, shifting his hold on the blade to swipe rather than stab. Castiel raised a hand and the blade went flying away from Dean. For a second, Dean stood there, looking surprised and more human because of it. When he turned his head to look for a second weapon, Castiel reached forward, placing his hand against Dean's shoulder.

The hunter squealed in pain, and Castiel drew his hand back like he had been shocked.

Standing there, in the middle of a torture chamber in Hell, images came flooding back to the angel. Memories that he had cherished but had long sense forgotten; the sixteen years he had spent as a human came rushing back to him. Everything was returned to him – from the terrifying moments of his fall, to Anna helping him suppress his true identity, to the night that he and Dean had spent together in the church – all of it came crashing back into him.

Dean kissing his mouth. Dean running his hands over Castiel's skin. Dean on his knees on the couch before him, the soft breaths and whimpers that Castiel's human body caused in him.

Castiel looked up, and Dean was looking back at him. The human's body was restored, completely new. There wasn't a scar on him, except for the burn on his shoulder where Castiel had touched him, and Castiel felt a swell of pride at his Grace's handy work. The hunter's mouth was slack and his eyes open. "Cas?" He whispered, and the angel couldn't help but grin.

Dean remembered, too.

There was no time to waste – the demons were barging on the torture room door – and Castiel grabbed over the same mark again. He closed his eyes and flew as quickly as he could. He needed to put Dean's soul in his body. He needed to get out of hell.

He needed to press his lips against Dean again, and for that, he would need his old body.

* * *

Jimmy could hear Castiel. In fact, Jimmy was more than a true vessel for Castiel because Jimmy _was_ Castiel. The body that had been so timid and shy as a human had been blown to bits when the Grace entered it, sure, but Michael had made this body for him. It was an exact replacement of that body – Castiel's human soul had mixed with his Grace and that was why the angel could feel emotions, or at least, that was what Castiel hypothesized – and Jimmy had no soul.

But instead of leaving the shell in a catatonic state, Castiel had given his body a makeshift host. So Castiel appeared before the religious man and asked him if he could enter his body.

It took longer to convince Jimmy than Castiel thought it would have, and by the time he was flying in his vessel once again – he was secretly pleased that Jimmy had loved running cross country as much as the human Castiel had – Dean had already managed to crawl out of his grave, make it to the gas station (where Castiel tried to tell him to stay put but ended up hurting Dean's ears and blowing out the windows on accident), hotwire a car and drive to Bobby's in Sioux Falls, trace Sam via his cell phone, and drive back to Illinois to get Sam.

His one saving grace was that Dean knew who had raised him – he remembered seeing Castiel before he had flown them out – and even though Bobby and Sam thought he was crazy, Dean convinced them to stay in the motel and not run to a psychic. Although, when Sam did leave that night to meet sneak into the diner, Castiel tried to warn Dean again.

Dean hadn't figured out that the sound was Castiel's voice – and the angel never meant to make his friend's ears bleed – but Dean was unsettled enough to let Bobby drag him from the Astoria Hotel to the barn. For hours, Bobby put up protective sigils while Dean sat on a table and swung his feet, a grin on his face, warning his friend that none of that could stop Castiel.

At long last, Jimmy said yes. And landing with his vessel this time proved to be just as difficult as it was last time. When he meant to go through the ceiling, he again crashed into the roof and rolled down, landing with a thud on the grass next to the barn. He was embarrassed, so maybe he was overcompensating when he made the doors fly open. As he walked, he sent out a burst of energy – he could _probably_ control it, but the sparks had looked so cool last time – and when he stopped in front of Dean, he noticed Bobby raised his gun.

Castiel looked at Dean.

His soul wasn't scarred, not like most people who had been to Hell, and even after everything that had happened, it was the brightest one Castiel had ever seen. He was still sitting on the table, still swinging his feet in an almost child-like state of glee, and he grinned at Castiel.

"You're still using those grand entrances to make yourself look like a boss?" Dean smirked, and Castiel frowned.

"You're teasing me," Castiel stated, watching as Dean hopped off the table and moved toward him.

Dean wrapped him in a hug before Castiel could even think about what to do next, but his body reacted accordingly. His hands went to the small of his friend's back, burrowing his face in his neck. Dean smelled like gun powder and alcohol, and Castiel never wanted to let him go again.

"Nah, man," Dean murmured into Castiel's hair. "If I were teasing you, I would have said as soon as I got in the shower after crawling through the dirt to get out of my final resting place, I jacked off thinking about what you'd look like after all these years."

"I'm still right here," Bobby said. Over Dean's shoulder, Castiel could see him waving his arms, trying to get their attention. It worked and reluctantly, Castiel drew away from Dean.

"I meant to be there," Castiel admitted. "It took longer than I thought to regain my vessel."

Dean made a move to touch Castiel again, but the angel gave a pointed look in Bobby's direction, and his friend took the hint. "Cas, this is Bobby. Bobby, this is…"

"I remember Bobby," Castiel said, nodding at the man. "He is like a father to you. He's a good man. My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord."

"And you two know each other…" Bobby started.

"I'm the one who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition," Castiel said, and Dean grinned.

"He means he saved me from hell. It's cool. I met him when I was a kid."

"Not a kid," Castiel huffed. "A teenager."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said. "We fought some demons together. Us and Sam."

"How come you boys never told me about that before?" Bobby asked, and Dean frowned.

"I… I didn't remember until… Cas, why'd you… why'd you leave me that night? Why'd you have to take my memories? You could have just left me with the memories and…" Dean asked, taking another few steps back.

"I didn't take them. Michael, my brother… he did. I left you that night because I was told that I was a necessary part of your future. I wasn't supposed to fall when I did, Dean," Castiel frowned, looking down. "I left you because my brother Michael told me it was the only way I could save you. And after the angels took your memories, they took my memory too. They told me I had been injured and that was why I couldn't remember the sixteen years I was on earth. But…"

Castiel trailed off and when he looked up, Dean had his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he was trying to be angry, but his soul gave him away. He was happy at their reunion more than he was angry at the deception.

"But what, Cas?"

"Your soul – you and Sam – even though I didn't remember you, I was drawn to your souls. I've been watching out for you for years… since you were sixteen. I wasn't allowed to intervene, but I saw everything, Dean. I mourned your death. And when they asked for someone to fight and save you from hell, I volunteered."

"And when you touched me in Hell…"

"We have a profound bound, Dean," Castiel said. For a second, the three of them were quiet, but it didn't take long for Dean to break that. He rushed at Castiel, and the angel was surprised. He expected violence – Dean wasn't exactly the best at handling compliments – but Dean had a hand at the back of Castiel's neck, not latched around his throat.

Dean tugged him forward, and Castiel went with Dean's momentum. The human kissed the angel like it hadn't been thirteen years – thirteen years void of any memory of each other – and Castiel's hands found Dean's hips. He squeezed at the denim, wishing he could feel the flesh below the material, trying to make sure that Dean was real.

The hunter bit at his lip, and Castiel opened his mouth.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Bobby grumbled from the other side of the room. "I'll just wait in the fucking car."

Castiel was only acutely aware of the old soul moving around them and making his way to the door of the barn. He even – bless his heart – tried to pull the barn doors closed to give the pair of them some privacy but they were still stuck open from Castiel's entrance. In the end, Bobby grumbled and walked away.

When Dean pressed his forehead against Castiel's to catch his breath, Castiel made the doors slam shut behind him. Dean grinned, a huff of laughter escaping his lips, and the angel didn't need the air, but he breathed it in.

"You volunteered to save me from hell when you couldn't even remember that we had ever met before?" Dean asked.

Castiel moved his fingers under Dean's shirt, feeling at his bare back. He knew he should be covered in scars from their constant, dangerous hunts but he wasn't. His flesh was unmarked, fresh, new. And that was Castiel's doing. Castiel had been the one to remake his body and it had only taken one touch, one second.

He knew Dean's body that well.

"Of course, Dean," Castiel said. "Your soul is beautiful. It is a precious thing. Even when I was trying not to pay attention to you, it was blinding. It consumed me. Your soul… I would do anything to save you, even without remembering our time before. Although I couldn't technically see your soul when I was human, it was the same way I felt about you, then. I would have been terrified, but I would have marched into hell for you then."

"And now that you remember?" Dean breathed, and when Castiel tried to focus on Dean's too-close face, he could see that his eyes were half-lidded. Castiel couldn't help but smile.

"They want you. Heaven wants you. But they can't have you. I fell once. I fell so I could experience love, and they took everything from me. They won't take that away, again."

"God damn, Cas," Dean grinned. "You said I had the mouth."

"You do," Castiel said, moving his hands from Dean's back to his stomach, pushing until the hunter walked backwards. When he was pinned between the table and Castiel's solid body, the angel continued. "You're new, Dean. Brand new. Once, you were my first. Allow me to be yours this time."

"Oh, fuck yes," Dean said, trying to surge forward and capture Castiel's lips again, but the angel moved his head to the side, brushing his lips against Dean's neck before moving closer to his ear.

"Last time, you said we could try it the other way in the morning," Castiel murmured. "Our morning after was kind of ruined, and maybe the offer had an expiration date, but if it hasn't…"

"You want me to fuck you this time?" Dean groaned.

"Yes, Dean. Please. As you said, I haven't ever done it like that before, and virginity is just a stupid social construct but…"

"Yes, Cas. Are you fucking kidding me, of course I will. Do you have…?" Dean asked but Castiel pulled his hand away from Dean. For one second, he was gone but when he returned he held up a bottle and Dean laughed. "I'm going to marry you, I swear to your dad. C'mere."

And even though it had been really nice of Bobby to wait in the car to give them some privacy, they did end up keeping him waiting a little bit longer than he had meant, Castiel was sure. But a while later, when he crawled into the backseat and Dean settled down into the passenger's seat of Bobby's car, Castiel could feel Bobby's soul was sparking with hope.

Castiel didn't understand why Bobby would be hopeful until Castiel realized that Dean kept turning around to talk to Castiel, but really, he was making sure Castiel was still in the backseat. In all of the years that Castiel watched Dean, the human had only cared if his lover stayed or left a handful of times. Castiel was honored to be considered among those few.

And maybe he felt a spark of hope within him, too.

* * *

In the car, they developed a plan. First, they would drive to the diner where Sam was – it took Castiel seconds to locate him, but Dean praised him as if he had found the Ark of the Covenant and not somebody hiding in a diner within a ten minute drive of where they already were – and Castiel would take away the block Michael had put on his memories.

Second, once Sam remembered him, the three humans and the angel would stop the apocalypse.

No sweat.

When Dean, Bobby, and Castiel burst into the diner, they found Sam sitting with the demon they knew to be Ruby, although Dean and Bobby didn't know who she was yet. Both Winchesters started yelling at each other (_"Who the fuck is that, Sammy?" "Who's she? Well who's he?"_) and Castiel figured it would be easier if this part was skipped.

Time was of the essence after all. He hadn't fallen again, but he disobeyed anyway. He was joining up with the Winchesters rather than following orders. He would be punished if the angels found him, and they would find him the second they realized he was rogue and start looking.

He pressed two fingers against Sam's forehead – Ruby yelled, not sure what Castiel was or what he was doing – but when Sam blinked, he was grinning. As soon as the angel pulled away, Sam was practically chasing him out of the diner's booth. Once the younger Winchester was standing, he wrapped his arms around his old friend, and Castiel patted his back.

"You are much taller when I am in this smaller form," Castiel commented, and Sam laughed, moving back. The girl frowned, but Castiel turned to her before she could speak. "I know it's terribly rude, but we really need to discuss something with Sam privately."

Sam looked confused – he remembered that Castiel could see a demon's true face, and he would know that Ruby wasn't just some girl – but Castiel tried to give him a pointed look and could only assume that Sam understood. Ruby was pissed. She stormed out of the diner, and Castiel made sure she was really gone before he turned to discuss the plan.

But the Winchesters were already talking.

"Dude, that's the same girl from the motel today," Dean grinned. "You sly dog. You got yourself a girlfriend and didn't tell me?"

"Uh…" Sam frowned, but one look at Castiel gave him a reason to avoid the discussion. It was a necessary one for them all to have, but not right now. Time was limited now. "What about you? Your cute angel boyfriend is back after thirteen years…"

"Yeah, and they already re-consummated their relationship. It's freaking cold out there for September, and I nearly ran out of gas waiting for them," Bobby said, and Dean was opening his mouth to say some comeback (Sam was laughing), but Castiel gestured with his hands to get their attention back on him.

"In hell, Dean accidentally broke the first of the sixty-six seals to let Lucifer out of his cage," Castiel started. Dean paled, and Bobby and Sam shared a worried look, but Castiel didn't elaborate on how the seal was broken – just like Ruby and Sam was not his information to share, Dean's time in hell wasn't either – so he just continued. "I don't know any of the other seals, but we must stop them from breaking. If Lucifer is set free, havoc will be wrought and the earth will be destroyed."

"It's always something, isn't it?" Bobby frowned. "It's never a bunch of cuddly puppies that need a home."

"Hey, if we stop the world from ending, I'll get you a puppy, Bobby," Dean sighed. "Alright, so you don't know any of the other seals? Who does know 'em?"

"Well, this is the issue," Castiel frowned. "My brother Michael must know about them. He's the one who asked us to save you from hell, Dean. But he's also the one who took away all of our memories. There have been whispers of a large war, and I don't know if we can trust Michael. I can summon him here, but we need to have a few things to ensure your safety before I feel comfortable doing that."

In the end, Castiel filled two notebook pages filled with sigils he wanted Dean and Bobby to paint up while he and Sam flew to get the other supply. Specifically, Castiel reminded Sam that he had asked to fly last time, offered to take him to Jerusalem, and Sam had jumped at the chance. Within an hour, everything was ready. The three humans and Castiel were standing to the side of the diner – Dean was flicking his lighter back and forth on his leg absently before Castiel finally took it away – and Castiel turned to face his friends.

"Please look away while I summon him. I cannot guarantee that he has a vessel, and if you look upon his true form, it will burn out your eyes. He might have taken a vessel already – I know Uriel, a member of my garrison – took one soon after I reclaimed mine, but…" Castiel frowned. "Please trust me on this."

Once the humans were facing away, the angel started the summon. It took no time, and as soon as he had completed the ritual, he heard the flutter of wings and looked upon his brother's vessel.

"Hello boys," Michael said, and Castiel flicked Dean's lighter on, dropping it to the ground. The holy oil burst to life around his brother, and it was just in time. Both of the Winchesters were at the ring of fire, looking at their father with disbelief.

"Dad?" Dean asked, but Castiel shook his head.

"There was a very specific reason, Castiel, why I needed Dean raised from hell," Michael said, opening his arms. "Vessels usually run in the bloodline."

"You mean Dean is…" Castiel started, but Michael nodded.

"He is my sword."

"Your what?" Dean hissed. "Why the fuck are you in my dad? How did you get him to agree?"

"You are my sword," Michael said, turning to face Dean. "You are the vessel in which I will finally destroy my brother and rid the world of the abominations he has created. And I'm wearing your dad because I can only enter your blood line. Your dad would suffice, but you're half your mother; therefore, you would be much stronger against him."

"Your brother?" Sam asked. "You mean Lucifer?"

"Yes," Michael said. "Dean is my true vessel, and you are Lucifer's, Sam."

It was silent for a long moment. Michael shifted back and forth on his feet, and it looked so unlike something that John Winchester would do, it was easy for the boys to remember that it wasn't really their father. It was something Michael was doing on purpose, Castiel knew. Michael wanted to distinguish himself from John.

Eventually, Castiel grew tired of the Winchesters' looks, and he spoke up. "You need his consent. Both of you need both of their consent."

"That's true, Castiel," Michael said. His grin looked foreign on John's lips. "But unlike you, I didn't spend hours trying to convince a shell of a body without a soul for his consent. Technically, you didn't even need his consent. I created that body for you. That body is yours to do with what you want." For a second, Michael was quiet, before his focus switched from Castiel to Dean. "Which I see you did."

"You shut your fucking mouth," Dean hissed. "It's none of your business who…"

"Dean," Castiel warned, but Michael just smiled, moving his hands so they were held behind his back. "So you knew I would fail to get to him in time?"

"Actually, no," Michael said, raising John's eyebrows. "I expected him to last longer. The Righteous Man broke in thirty. His father held out for a hundred."

"Shut up," Castiel snarled, taking a step toward the holy fire. His blade was summoned in his hand suddenly, and Michael was grinning again.

"You're very brave from the other side of the fire," Michael commented. "I meant what I said. If the first seal had never been broken, I would have been content to watch the earth forever. But you can't stop Lucifer from breaking free. Our only hope is for me to destroy him in battle."

"If there are sixty-six…" Sam started, but Michael cut him off.

"There are six hundred. Only sixty-six need to be broken. Everything has been working toward the breaking of the final seal, Sam Winchester. I'm sorry to say I have little faith in you," Michael said. "You are so much like my younger brother. I hated to see you fall as he did."

"What do you mean?" Dean yelled. "What's the final seal?"

"Lucifer's true vessel," Michael said, gesturing to Sam. "Needs to kill the very first demon ever created – you know her as Lilith – over the door to Lucifer's cage."

"Well," Sam started, licking his lips. His voice was frantic. "Now that I know what it is, I just won't ever kill Lilith."

For a long moment, Michael looked Sam over. After what felt like an eternity, he shook his head. "You stink of demon blood, Sam. I have a better chance at killing Lucifer than you do of resisting Ruby. She's lying to you, by the way. She's working with Lilith to raise Lucifer."

"You'll only have a chance to beat him if we say yes to you. And we will never agree," Dean said, and Sam nodded.

It seemed to be a standoff. The Winchesters and Bobby were worried, but they were resolute. Meanwhile, Michael was smiling, rocking onto his toes and then back to his heels, looking at Castiel.

Long before Castiel was created, there were four archangels and they were the only ones. Michael was the oldest, then Raphael, then Lucifer, then Gabriel. Raphael had always been independent, choosing to do her own thing. She taught herself to fly. But Michael had taught Lucifer everything he knew, and Lucifer taught it to Gabriel.

Castiel had been very new when Gabriel died. But he could remember him; angels had infinite memories, after all. Gabriel had been a hell-raiser, long before that term existed. He had taught Castiel everything he knew about technicalities.

Which meant that he learned everything he knew from Lucifer. Who learned from Michael.

Castiel frowned, "You told us everything."

Michael looked away as if he were bored.

"Michael," Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Ruby is working with Lilith. Lucifer can only be raised if Sam kills Lilith in a specific spot…"

"I didn't tell you _everything_, Castiel," Michael said, looking back at his younger brother. "If I told you _everything_, I would have mentioned the Lilith isn't far from here. She's actually back in Sioux Falls right this minute, gathering the materials to complete a spell that will raise the Witnesses. That's the next seal. And if, say, she died tonight, then she couldn't be killed on that altar to let Lucifer out."

"Michael…" Castiel started, but Michael held up his hand.

"I haven't seen our Father in… a long time, Castiel. And I am not omniscient like he is, not even close to powerful like that, but I have predicted accurately for years. I've seen what can happen if this path continues. Many angels will die, Castiel, and many by your hand. Lucifer and I will end up killing one another, destroying the earth, or locked together – hating each other – in the cage. And I love my brother. I love him as much as the Winchesters love each other, but I am not allowed to intervene. That was my one order. I cannot intervene," Michael sighed. "So you can see why I can't tell you anything."

"Thank you," Castiel said and raised his hand, and the fire around Michael burned down. Even when he was free to leave, he stood there for a moment.

"Your father was terrible, and the abuse you suffered at his hands is inexcusable," Michael said, addressing the Winchesters. "Your mother was furious. I actually had to step in to keep her from somehow murdering an already dead soul. But he is proud of you, and how amazingly – if a little disturbingly co-dependent – you turned out despite his terrible parenting."

"Um…" Dean said, and he looked at Sam, but Michael shrugged.

"Your father only let me use him as a vessel if I agreed to tell you that he was proud of you," Michael said. "You're not the only one who cares about his vessel's wishes, Castiel."

And with a flutter of wings, Michael was gone.

The four of them were quiet for a long moment, before Sam finally broke it with a simple declaration of, "I'm going to kill Ruby."

"Yeah, well, we've got another bitch to gank tonight," Dean said. "Do you have any idea where she is, Cas?" Castiel looked at him with narrowed eyes, and Dean just laughed. "You're fucking awesome, man. Alright, the four of us can pile into my car. I can get us there in no time."

"Yes, well, unfortunately time is a huge part of this plan, and the Impala is only so fast," Castiel said. Dean gasped in horror (Castiel couldn't tell if it was fake or not), but the angel reached out, grabbing the Winchesters' hands before nodding at Bobby. "Touch him, Dean."

"Gross," the man joked, but the second Dean made contact, Castiel flew. Some members of their party handled flight better than others. Sam, for instance, was fine, but Dean and Bobby both stumbled on the landing. "Give a guy some warning next time, Cas," Dean complained, but he was quiet when he looked up and saw they were at Bobby's house.

"She's creating the spell here?" Bobby griped. "She's going to mess up all my shit. It's catalogued in a very specific order."

"Everywhere is a specific order?" Sam asked, but Bobby ignored him, and Castiel summoned his angel blade.

When he held it out to Dean, the hunter took it and looked it over with awe. "These will kill demons as well as angels. I will need it back when you are done. If you give the demon killing knife to Bobby, Sam and I will offer support with her henchmen."

"Support?" Sam asked.

"I doubt Bobby's house is the altar which is the key to opening Lucifer's cage, but it is better to be safe than sorry," Castiel said. "Whatever you do, Sam, don't kill Lilith."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," the hunter grumbled.

The four of them walked into Bobby's house.

Ruby was supposed to be keeping Sam away, and since Bobby was supposed to be with Dean, it was the perfect set up for the spell. Lilith had been confident, so she only brought two other demons with her. When they walked in, she was trying to throw the spell together, and Sam took out one of the minions with his demon powers before she even realized they were there.

For a battle that was supposed to stop the apocalypse, it sure ended anti-climatically.

Bobby buried the knife into the chest of the other henchmen demon, and Lilith threw Dean against a wall. But just as an army of lesser demons was more distracting than one powerful demon, Lilith realized she was outnumbered and tried to puff out of meat suit.

She was incredibly powerful for a demon, far greater than Castiel had ever faced on his own. But he wasn't on his own this time. He concentrated with his entire Grace to push the smoke back into the host, while Sam held the host still with his body as he was still immune to her powers. Bobby grabbed the start of the spell and moved it away from the demon, and Dean stabbed the angel blade into her chest.

She didn't even glow or burn up or anything more than any other demon did, which Dean was highly disappointed about. He complained loudly that he was hoping that she would explode, sending blood and guts everywhere. Bobby wasn't too pleased with the idea and was content to let the body lie there on his floor until after their celebration when he considered the alternative carnage she might have created. The humans, giddy from their victory, pulled some beers from the refrigerator – offering one to Castiel, who pulled the top off effortlessly before Sam passed him the bottle opener – which caused the humans to laugh.

They sat on the couch – Bobby in his chair next to the couch – and started their hyperbolizing.

Castiel took a sip of the drink, but didn't really care for it. This led to a lengthy discussion of how they were going to get Castiel drunk, which turned into an even lengthier conversation in which Sam admitted he had been drinking demon blood to buff up his powers. Dean admitted that he had tortured souls in hell and that he had liked it. Bobby admitted that it had been a rough three months for him, too, and his liver was a testament to that, but an easy fix for Castiel.

They hadn't expected Castiel to admit to anything, the angel was pretty sure of that, but when he held the bottle in his hands – long since warm, which only made the liquid even more disgusting – he felt the need to own up too.

"Angels can't feel anything – happiness, sadness, joy, pain – they can't feel anything, but when I regained my Grace, I could still feel. When I watched you for all those years, your pain was my pain. I loved Jessica like a sister, Bobby became like a father to me, and Dean… when you were happy… I was so proud of you. It didn't matter that I felt like I was dying inside because I just wanted for you to be happy. I know I wasn't there, and I wish I could have been with you. But I felt everything. I was there, watching over you," Castiel looked down. "I'm sorry I didn't act more than I did."

"Don't worry about it, Cas," Sam said. "The important thing was that you were there. I mean, I can't believe someone like you would care about us, even back when you were human. Like, what could you possibly have seen in Dean?"

Bobby laughed, but Dean punched his brother in the shoulder.

After a few minutes, Bobby excused himself and went to bed. Not long after that, Sam said goodnight too. "Hey, about _The Wizard of Oz_?"He asked, and Castiel nodded. "Just… thanks for that. It really helped me out when I got sick and I couldn't go to school. So thanks."

"I forgot that the Vonnegut book was from you," Dean exclaimed. "Damn, that started me on a lifelong path to loving Vonnegut. And that… the feather…?"

"It was one of mine," Castiel said, looking away for a moment. But Dean was pushing into his periphery, making a move like he was going to kiss him, and Sam cleared his throat.

"And, not to be that guy, but I'm going to sleep in the bunker tonight so I don't have to hear the two of you."

Dean laughed but followed him down to lock him in. It might have been disguised as a joke, but Castiel knew it was really so he couldn't sneak out in the night and find a demon to bleed.

Already, Sam was making an attempt to get clean, and it was commendable. It would be rough for a while, but if anyone could detox from something as addictive as demon blood, Sam Winchester could.

When Dean got back upstairs, he grinned at the angel. "You don't _have_ to drink that, you know."

"Oh," Castiel said, putting it down on the table. "We should have taken care of Lilith's body tonight."

"Nah," Dean said. "Let Bobby deal with it in the morning." They were quiet for a second, but when Dean spoke up again, Castiel looked up at him. "Are you going to peace out and have one of your brothers take my memory in the morning again, Cas?"

"I never asked him to take your memory, Dean. But I won't," Castiel said. "I had no orders to do anything this time, but I have no intention of leaving you again."

"Don't… please, don't say that if you don't mean it, Cas. You said you felt everything we felt, but I felt that too. And that morning, I might not have remembered you but I missed you like hell. Everything that happened after that, there was just a sadness to it. It was like I had dreamed this person up and nobody ever met their mythical standards. If you leave again… if you leave again and my memories are gone…"

"I won't, Dean. I promise that I won't," Castiel said. "And if I leave for a while, I will always come back to you. I don't know what they want me to do now that the apocalypse is off – I don't know if I have to go back to my post – but I will always come back."

Dean looked away, toward the stairs that led up to the second bedroom. When he spoke it was a whisper, and if Castiel hadn't been an angel, he wouldn't have heard it at all: "Every night?"

"For as long as you want me," Castiel promised, reaching out. He put his hand over the scar on Dean's shoulder – his flesh's only taint – and the hunter turned around to look at him. Over his shirt, Castiel trailed down Dean's arm until his hand found his friend's, and their fingers laced together.

The grin Dean shot Castiel was magnificent, blinding, but not as bright as his soul. When Dean leaned forward, he kissed Castiel like he was trying to promise that they would be lovers for centuries, not just years. It was timeless, pure and perfect, and when Dean drew back, he led them upstairs to the spare bedroom.

Once they were undressed, they crawled into bed together. Dean's warm flesh pressed against Castiel's, and right before Dean fell asleep he asked, "Will you be here in the morning?"

"Yes," Castiel murmured, kissing the top of Dean's head.

And he was.

* * *

[End Note: If you hate this and want to hate on it, I can't stop you, but can you please wait until tomorrow? Today (December 6th) is my birthday. Nobody wants hate on their birthday.]


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